Titanomachy
by necro-wulf
Summary: A moment's loss of control brings the threat of Scath once again. Five years after the collapse of the Titans, Raven's only hope at redemption may be in the hands of the Angel of Vengence and a man who has every reason to hate her. BBxRaven Lemon ch1
1. Epoch

_Disclaimer: I do not own the intellectual property related to the Teen Titans, the DC/Vertigo universe, or especially any material of biblical or Hebrew origin. This work of fiction is not intended as a profitable venture._

Titanomachy:

Polouge

Epoch

_

* * *

_

The Gem is born of Evil's fire;

_The Gem will be his Portal;_

_He comes to maim;_

_He comes to sire, the end of all things mortal_

_-The prophesy of Scath's Accent,_

_Commonly attributed to the demon Etrigan_

_---_

There are moments that define the lives of those they touch. These pivotal, irreversible events, usually quite unexpected are the best and worst life has to offer.

Raven had experienced many such moments, with a considerably higher degree of predictability.

Her arrival on earth

Joining the Titans

Her "Sweet 16th" birthday

Her sire's advent.

Standing up to Trigon and deciding to _live_

But Destiny being as unpredictable as it(or depending upon who you ask, _He_) is, She would never have seen the live changing event that was coming.

* * *

It was a party.

Starfire's to be precise, her 20th birthday.

And as was to be expected, Raven had a massive migraine.

The problem was that Star was by far the nicest, sweetest, most personable girl any Titan had ever met outside of a floral themed pocket dimension in Raven's head. Ergo, she had a lot of people wishing her well on her special day, despite the catering being inedible to anyone not an alien or a mutated moth larva.

As if the psy7chic cacophony of over two dozen _hormonal _metahuman teenagers in the tower wasn't bad enough, they just had, had, had to convert every room with enough floor space into a dance floor, complete with laser lights in time with the music, enough bass it warranted a structural check of the building despite its being both earthquake and supervillain resistant, and Cyborg in the commons simultaneously acting as DJ for all of the rooms through a turntable and a hard interface between the base of his skull and the sound system.

The party had been going on since before sundown. It was now considerably past midnight and frankly Raven was moments away from a psionic meltdown of tectonic proportions, vomiting from vertigo-inducing empathic turbulence, or bolting from the tower until her peers were a little thinner on the ground.

As it was it was all she could do to find a spot wit minimal vibrations from the sound system(why Robin allowed it to be bolted to the superstructure she would never understand), no people, and soothing darkness.

She ended up in a storage room, sitting on a crate of spare parts for the T-car.

Rubbing her temples as she slowly tried to extract herself from the joy, lust, jealousy, anger, hurt, confusion and hope that Raven would _much_ prefer that she was _not_ privy to, she failed to notice someone approach her in her place of limited respite until he sat down next to her.

"I figured you would be alone in the dark someplace." The voice might have (finally) lowered by an octave, but the presence of comfort, sympathy, and calming simplicity was familiar. "Its pretty bad up there, huh?"

Garfield Logan a.k.a. Beastboy

"You have no idea." was her terse, headache inspired response, her eyes still locked closed, as if to block any stray photon from aggravating her condition.

"Maybe, maybe not. Have you ever wondered about the pheromone signals super powered teens put out?" he asked, half serious. "its not exactly soothing for me in there either."

"emmm…" she grunted, not by any means up for a conversation.

"Anything I can do to help…you know, keep you from going all Carrie on us?"

"Not particularly. I just have to ride it out." she responded, " In fact, best I I turn in before someone spikes the punch and things really get out of hand." She made to stand, but totter uneasily under the heady miasma of emotion exuded by the collected Titans.

"Whoa! I gottcha." the green teen said as he steadied her by the elbow. "I think it might be best if I gave you an escort. You don't look too steady on you feet."

"If you must" Raven said, her flicker of gratitude extinguished in the torrent of irritation she currently felt toward the world in general.

* * *

Garfield was, for once, unusually competent and chivalrous as they made their was towards her room.

In all honesty as she was she could barely stand unsupported, let alone trying to navigate the tower to reach her chambers. She was fairly dependent upon her shape shifting teammate to lead her at the moment, much o her chagrin.

And lead her he did, rather thoughtfully by the elbow, with gentle guidance and subtle support.

He took the most reclusive route possible, using his enhance senses to bypass crowded rooms, confrontations, and in a few cases couples looking for seclusion for entirely different purposes. Really she found the careful amount of attention he paid to alleviating her discomfort sweet, once her headache abated enough for her to appreciate it. When they arrived at her room, far enough away from the centers of activity that she could hear her herself think, Raven sighed her relief.

Steadier on her feet, she leaned her back against her door, one arm unconsciously crossing over her torso to grip the other where he had guided her by the elbow.

"This is me." she said, stating the obvious in an attempt to wrap up her social obligation to Beastboy quickly and get some sleep.

"Yep," he nodded amicably before shooting her a careless two fingered salute and turning to return to the party. "g'night"

"And Gar…" she continued, half a question in her voice, prompting him to turn halfway back around.

It was an errant impulse. Maybe it was all of the emotional chaff, but he had come looking for her when he didn't have to. And he was being so sweet and considerate.

It wouldn't even really count, she told herself. It would be just a little peck.

"Thank you." she stepped towards him and kissed him softly on the cheek.

* * *

_Surprise; almost shock. Joy. Comfort. Lust. Affection. Love?_

It had been building for a long time.

Beastboy…Garfield, had a crush on her. When and how it started she had no idea, but sometime between his and Cyborg's field trip into her psyche and the advent of his Beast form, he became attached to her.

And she would be lying if she said she wasn't aware of it. Or that she didn't return his affections, a little. All of the Titans were precious to her, more so than her own life. But he… always seemed to _want_ her more than the others.

Want her to smile.

Want her to laugh.

Wanted her company.

Wanted her to save her every day.

She hadn't been lying, not one bit when she said it would be the last thing Terra ever did to harm him. She literally wouldn't have been able to stop herself. More, she wouldn't want to.

He was important to her. All the Titans were, but him especially, because he made it so clear she was important to him, and she couldn't help but to respond to that need a little.

And as they grew older, he grew up, and she grew up. He learnt when "Leave me alone" was earnest and when she was being misanthropic by habit. She quashed her instinct to lash out at anyone seeking emotional contact, because there was just no reason to restrict herself so much anymore. Within the space of a year and a half he gained nearly 8 inches and 60 pounds of lean muscle. She, much to her irritation, could now only make level eye contact by levitating.

And, as was the wont of teenagers living in close quarters, there was sexual tension. He had hyper developed instincts and senses, she was an empath. Eventually things came to a head. The word pheromones was used in conversation. Embarrassment and hijinks ensued. The entire debacle ended with a conference call between the titans, Mento, Batman, and Dr. Midnight; the only physician to practice metahuman medicine. No one made eye contact for several days afterward.

But ultimately, until tonight nothing come of it. Raven, at 19, had never been on a date, never been kissed, and her only romantic relationship of note was with a lying, malevolent, fire breathing reptile. Beastboy, despite flirting with everything in a skirt and a literal horde of Japanese fan-girls, hadn't managed more than a single date with anyone.

And now she was kissing him.

* * *

As she took half a step back from where she'd stood upon her toes to bring her lips to his cheek, she felt what he felt.

His emotions, god it felt like his entire soul, rolled over her and bowled her under like a massive tsunami. He wanted her.

He wanted physically and he wanted her heart.

He wanted her dour, and gloomy, and creepy.

He wanted her happy more than anything.

He wanted what was best for her, and wanted desperately not to hurt her.

He was in love. And he was looking at her, his grass green eyes shining like he'd just seen heaven, a question staring out.

"Raven," He began, unsure.

And she felt something she hadn't anticipated respond to his affections, something she hadn't even allowed herself to acknowledge was there.

She silenced him easily, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing herself closer to him.

"Shut up." she whispered into his ear, breathy and for once not harsh in her reprimand, "there's been something here for a long time. I'm only no realizing just how much. On both sides."

It was true. Right now she was feeling more than she could ever remember feeling before. He was her teammate, her companion, and her friend. Now she realized she wanted, and had wanted for quite some time, to have him as her lover, had she been able to admit the desire to herself.

Dropping her face a little, she caught a glimpse of his astonished face before their lips soft met and she closed her eyes.

* * *

Garfield Mark Logan had loved his teammate Raven, a little, ever since she was the first person to tell him he was funny on the night they first met and first fought together.

From there every moment, every instant they were together seemed to embed her presence into his soul. He may not have known to handle his feelings for her, or how to show her what she meant to him, but that didn't make what he knew to be true any less real.

She was the only one who had ever called out the Beast in him. The only reason he had ever called up that dread chimera's terrible power was

in her defense.

And now she was calling the beast out of him in an entirely different way.

The feel of her velvety lips pressed insistently against his; the scent of her hair tickling his nose, lavender shampoo, incense, and below that the subtle head bouquet of Raven herself with lust in her blood; the taste of her where his tongue probed her delicate mouth to sample her flavor… It was enough to drive him to madness.

A hot knife of lust carved upwards from his groin to stoke his heart to pounding. Thunder pulsed through his fevered veins and lightning danced on his nerve endings. His lust was that of all beasts, all life, and his love was that of a man.

Oh, god he had her warm and wanting in his arms and it felt like she belonged there. This instant, some lonely insightful part of himself realized, was perfect; with the exquisite petite form of the woman he loved molded against his chest as she nestled into his embrace.

Alas, they still had need to breath, and when she pulled back panting to lean against her door (though not, Gar noticed, to break their embrace) her eyes were wide with desire. She had never looked so beautiful.

"Wow" was all he could manage between gasps of air despite the desire to wax poetic upon the vision presented to him.

Raven seemed slightly more composed a few moments later when she managed an entire question.

"Do you," she asked, "want to come in?"

* * *

For once Raven was completely without self control and _just didn't care._

She knew that this was partly because of the long years of emotional repression and the emotions of the other teens in the building and her own hormones ganging up on her that led to making the offer. She didn't care about that either.

If it were just those, or even those as well as Beastboy's feelings for her it never would have come this far. She knew her own mind well enough to separate her motivations from those sorts of distractions.

No she honestly wanted him in the way a woman wants a man. If all of those other things eased the way to the realization, if she was being irresponsible in its face, she didn't give a damn.

She had never felt so alive before, with him kissing her, pressing into the wall of her room in the dark. His hand twined a fistful of violet locks at the back of her head to pull her closer to him; his right rested at the small of her back only to trail fire downward as it slide to her hip, while the skintight fabric of her uniform was seeming both less and more of a barrier between their contact every instant. She knew at the very core of her that there was no regret in her. This was _right_.

She felt the prickle of coarse, short trimmed emerald hair against her palm, where her hand pulled his face to hers. Her tongue, clumsy from lack of practice but impassioned, danced with his in a pantomime of the intimacy she felt the both of them building towards.

It had been a log time coming that Raven would totally lose control of herself, one way or another. She had always thought it would be something terrible, something unforgivable when it happened. Now oblivious to all the damage that her unbridled heart may cause, she found herself for once completely content in Gar's embrace.

For this she would make any reparations, repair any damage she caused with a happy heart. It was, unequivocally worth it to feel this way, to know he felt this way about her and only her.

Raven wanted more. More of these feelings and sensations, more contact, more love and lust. But most of all she wanted more of him. More of Garfield Mark Logan.

Raven never thought she would come to this decision. She had never believed that there would be a time where her live was her own and she could, until recently. And she had scarcely believed she would ever find someone she cared for enough to chance this level of intimacy, or that her trust and ardor would be returned.

He was hesitant. As much as he wanted her, with an animal lust she could feel inside him, he wouldn't allow himself to press onward towards what both of them were building towards. He wouldn't trust himself to, because he wasn't sure where the bounds of man and beast began and ended. He couldn't allow himself to believe that she wanted what he did, because he was terrified of the possibility he might not be able to pull back once he progressed any further.

But Raven trusted him with her life. More than that, she was already trusting him with her heart and was readying to put her body in his keeping.

* * *

How long the held one another and silent spoke into the others lips their love in a language that made no sound neither could tell. A minute, or hours, in either case it was a single glorious instant between them, timeless and over all too quickly.

When Raven finally slipped from between himself and the wall Gar was disappointed, but beyond resolved to having the evening end there. When she tentatively took his hand as she extracted her self to silently pull him unresisting to her bedside disbelief was added to the tumult of emotion he felt.

"Raven, you're sure you want to?…" he began, dumbfounded as he stood in close proximity to her bed, their hands still lightly clasped. "You want this?"

He wanted her to say yes, more than anything. The combined reproductive instincts of every animal screamed at him to take her, and he himself wanted Raven herself to be his if only for a moment. But he could never forgive himself if he took advantage of… whatever this was, that on any level his lady love should be unwilling or regretful.

But seeing her small understanding, bemused, and cursedly _loving _smile he knew she understood. She kissed him once again, softly like the first time, but upon the lips.

"I know." Raven replied, "I didn't expect any of this either. I'd never anticipated this between us. But its here and it isn't going away. You know it, and so do I. And I am so tired of waiting for something good."

Looking into her deep violet eyes, he believed she was as willing, if not more so than he was, and for much the same reason. He knew, as much as he could hope to, that she was willing heart and soul. Nodding to show his assent, he felt there was one thing to say, for both their sake, before they began in earnest.

"I want you to know, before this starts… this won't be… this can't be… I couldn't…" he sputtered, so befuddled by hormones and unaccustomed emotion it was a labor to say what was needful, "If this is only for tonight, I'll live with that and be grateful. But you'd be breaking my heart, Raven."

Tentative, he reached out his hand and caressed the softened ridge of her jaws contour.

"I don't _want_ us to be just tonight. we should last longer than that, be _more _than that."

His voice was husky now and he diverted his gaze downward. "I love you. I have for along time. I'm not sure I'll ever stop."

Looking again at her face he saw a languid flow of tears trickling down from her closed eyes to moisten the hand clasped to Raven's cheek.

"I know." was her response, "I know how you fell, what your feeling. And I won't lie to you. I don't know how long I'll want what's between us here and now. But I love you _at this moment _more than I've ever loved another person. And what I'm felling right now I can't see an end to. It's not nearly enough, but its everything I have to give to you."

"I couldn't ask for more." he replied with a devoted smile, content that she was willing at least to make an attempt at the sort of intimacy he craved from her. He leaned over and kissed her, but their lips had barely touched when she pressed her hand to his chest and pushed him lightly down to the bed.

Surprised, but far from displeased, Gar watched as Raven unclasped her cloak with practiced efficiency. Its midnight fabric caressed her feminine curves with artless eroticism as it puddled at her feet.

She paused to step out of her elf-boots before joining him on the bed, and he quickly fumble off his gloves shoes and socks, all the time watching the hypnotic interplay of the musculature in her lean, bare calves and thighs. His costume became abruptly too constrictive in several ways.

Crawling onto her bed with a subtle grace that was somewhat feline to his practiced eye, Raven was the single most enticing thing he had ever seen.

As she cam within arms reach he pulled her overtop of him, embracing and carelessly intertwining their legs. His right hand rested upon her shoulder blade while the left trailed down her taught, firm rear and cupped over her, eliciting a surprised laugh , or maybe a small grunt vibrating into the joined chambers of their exploring mouths. Encouraged, he insinuated his fingers under the dark elastic fabric of her leotard, covering her butt cheek with the spread of his hand and pulling the rest of her slight weight unto his body, pressing her into him in all the right places. Now with her legs straddling his waist she tortured his sensibilities with the few scant layers of fabric separating them and teasing friction between their frantic bodies.

Bringing his unoccupied hand down her back to just above her hips, resting in the small dimpling of flesh there fore a moment before tracing the valley where the deep blue elastic of her leotard contoured to the firm flowing musculature of her back and the valley of her spine, the contact causing her to tremble as it gently re-ascended. Progressing until he felt the subtle firmness in her flesh that indicated the structure of her ribcage, he then slid it around her torso. Following the contour of her deceptively delicate bone structure with his sensitive fingertips until he had her soft heavy breast cupped lovingly in his hand for the first time. Raven's slight wiggling movements against his groin, dancing tongue, and the slim, feminine hands caressing by turns his chest, neck and shoulders all increased in ardor to show her approval.

Gar gripped her full breast more forcefully and was very aware of the thin and feeble barrier her garments represented between them The warmth of her body poured through and he could feel the firm nub of her nipple tickling the sensitive flesh at the crease of his palm. To the intoxicating melody of Raven's moans he took her hardened nipple through her skintight garment and to pinch, massage and carefully twist it. Raven arched her back then, and in a stroke of inspiration brought about by the sight of her unoccupied breast profiled by the cascade of moonlight he placed his mouth upon it to tease and gently nibble at it.

Frantically searching for a seam in her garment with his free hand, desperate to rid them of the impediment it represented, Gar continued to elicit moans from his responsive partner.

Upon discovering the leotard's zipper he wasted no time in opening to its limits and slipping his hungry fingers between the loosened fabric and the succulent female flesh beneath.

Emboldened by the fell of her in his hands, he slid he cloth off her shoulders and broke off his faces teasing at her breast with regret to plant energetic, fluttering kisses along her collar bone and the graceful, sensual lines of her throat. Raven in turn, had her hands on the waistband of his uniform, her exploring hands ran over his abs and pectorals peeling synthetic fibers off, tickling him ever so slightly where the tips of her fingernails pressed ever so slightly into his flesh.

Now lost amid the flood of their combined lust, Gar pulled the clinging sweat-laced clothing off her until her oft hidden body was displayed to him.

Raven's skin, bare now to the waist, was highlighted by the starlight into milky moon dust tones of a delicate satin texture. Her breasts were full and shapely, with small areolas and pert nipples of the same darkened skin tone of her succulent lips. Strangely enough it was her small, dimpled naval that drew his focus first, quite possibly because he had never before seen its delicate, but wholly normal, indentation on her extraordinary body with any particular detail in his more fevered dreams. Seeing it now hammered home to him that Raven really was here, straddling him and half naked and for once entirely impatient. He thanked the previously neglected area by planting a kiss upon it, with a single caress of his tongue delving within by way of apology before returning his attentions to her glorious bosom, trailing kisses upon her tough abdomen as he went.

Raven for her part hadn't been idle. As she had been disrobed she was likewise removing his skintight shirt. To both of their momentary regret, this required that his arms and head couldn't keep contact with her body in order to get the accursed thing off. With his covering gone she leaned over to plant a lingering sultry kiss in the center of his chest between the gentle hillocks of his lean, slab like pectorals as her hands roamed over the sinewy feline musculature along his arms and abdomen. Breaking the kiss breaking the kiss by pushing herself upright she looked down at him from her position of domination straddling him with eyes wide with lust.

"We're wearing too many cloths." She said, breathless, her accustomed composure long ago burned out of her.

"Definitely." Gar agreed, her point punctuated by the heat radiating through their garments from her sex to his enflamed member and vice-versa.

She purposefully but regretfully eased herself to the side to finally she her garment and allow him to do the same. But with the both of them now bare (skintight costumes didn't make for comfortable options in undergarments and were constructed to accommodate their lack) he was by no means willing to let her be the aggressor in what came next. His initial concerned reluctance aside, in this at least, his masculine impulses were not to be denied.

Curling over her where she lay on her side next to him, freshly disrobed, he pressed her onto her back and kissed her insistently. After a moment he rose off her to position himself between her splayed legs.

"Are you… Are you sure?" he asked in a voice heady until it was half growl. He needed to know at this last crucial juncture that she wouldn't regret this. It would take everything he had to pull himself back from this threshold with his body and nearly though in his head and impulse in his soul screaming to take her, but he would do it if she reneged. But God help him, he wasn't sure if he would succeed.

"Garfield Mark Logan" Raven replied with an odd combination of teasing, scolding and husky chemical euphoria, "If you think you can come into my room, kiss me, do all of those terrible, wonderful things to me, strip me nude, and then back out before I'm satisfied…"

She looped her arms around her lover's neck and pulled him into a single incongruously chaste peck on the lips, before letting him up enough to look at her.

"you need to seriously reevaluate your situation" she murmured with sardonic sexuality in her tone.

"Alright" was his somewhat stunned reply, thankful beyond words for this last assent. He gripped her hips with firm hands and positioned himself closer to her.

"I'll guide you in." her delicate finger encircled the ardent length of him and directed the tip of his staff to the opening of her womanhood, and just inside. With only the very end of his phallus inside her velvety warmth, he felt his instinct directing him. Slowly he eased himself into the moist, vital core of her until he met the obstruction within he had hoped for, prepared fore, but not dared anticipate. Knowing what was to come next he withdrew himself nearly entirely, then thrust back inside and through the barrier, but not before forcing his mouth on her to catch the pained exclamation she gave. Breaking the kiss he force himself to wait an instant, to hold until she was ready, though he longed in ways indescribable to continue. But he was Raven's first, and he loved her too well to misuse her.

"Gar… I'm alright. We can keep going" She said after a moment and a few deep calming breaths that did interesting things to her chest that sorely challenged his resolve.

Well beyond words, he nodded, then began the tidal withdrawals and thrusts of a slow controlled rhythm. His focus was entirely on her; her beautiful body, mewling moans and her roving hands, leave alone the heat of her tight around his penis. But it was also upon himself, holding back, slowing down, keeping just a bit removed so he wouldn't loose himself too early. He'd never know such intense pleasure in his life, but for Raven's sake he'd control, himself for as long as he could.

He was by no means experienced. In point of fact he was, until this point, a virgin. He'd never gone past flirting with his female friends and the though of intimacy with a crazed, clingy, super-groupie was repugnant on any number of levels. But being a teenage boy surrounded by teenage boys, you tended to receive a crash coarse in sex via osmosis, sometimes against your will. Often you received mental pictures you were better off without. But it did afford him the knowledge that he had to restrain himself or he'd likely blow it in under two minutes.

Still it wasn't easy with her willing beneath him ,making little sounds of passion and pleasure, the length of him surrounded by her fluid warmth.

His sense of time was worthless, at the moment, but eventually he found his rhythm through the heavenly haze of hormones. Slowly at first, but with an increasing tempo he plunged into her again an again, each motion delivering another pulse of pleasure up his spine and eliciting a response from his comely partner that only furthered his arousal. His thrusting became harder and faster still, seeming to gather momentum as it continued, until Raven was forced to cross her legs behind his back as he knelt at the crux of her legs, locking them together and preventing his ardor from jolting them apart.

As Gar grew less restrained and more sure of his role,, so did Raven. When he drove into her she responded with a roll of her hips that seemed to take him deeper into her than she would have believed possible. And when he pulled back she stopped him just shy of withdrawal, teasing his phallus with the hot swollen lips of her womanhood by using muscles she hadn't even realized she had until he entered her fully again.

Before Gar knew it and log before he wished their union to end, he felt the beginnings of Raven's orgasm. Aware, distantly, of their lack of protection, he was about to pull himself out of her to prevent any unfortunate complications from arising(using the lion's share of his remaining willpower in the process) when her legs pulled him in even closer. Using leverage from the junction of their bodies Raven pulled herself to vertical and held herself against him. With her breasts tracing lines of fire on his chest with every motion, her face contorted in a beauteous grimace of passion, her silken plum-tone hair smelling of sweat, passion and sex, with the taste of her on his mouth he just couldn't bring himself to break apart from her. Even less so when she clung to him and went still, save for the contortions of her sex around him, milking his member for the seed he longed to plant within her. Merciful God, her moans alone were enough to drive him mad.

Really, it was no surprise when he emptied himself within her. He didn't regret it, even if that may not always hold true. But for now, while his body responded to the throes of passion coursing through her with his own, he had one half conscious thought before succumbing to exhaustion and dropping onto the cool sheets of his lover's bed.

As they both rested with arms and legs entwined in lazy comfort he was overcome with a sense of peace, contentment, and security. He was satisfied, and more than that he was amazed beyond words and joyful to the point of tears that he was here with Raven. That he would ever be allowed a chance to be with her, much less that they would each be the other's first lover was more than he would ever have hoped.

The knew that this, that tonight, was inarguably _right_. And whatever the dawn brought he could accept because tonight Raven was his and no one else's.

* * *

Green and Grey

When she awoke in the mourning the first thing she registered were the colors green and grey.

Feeling the unaccustomed but comfortable warmth next to her she quickly recognized her own ashen-skinned arm draped across the plateau of her verdant bedmate's chest.

Closing her eyes a moment to gather her wits, in part to remember steamy details of last night's more lurid activities, in part to try and marshal her will to leave bed, and in part to breath in the musky, masculine scent of him from where her head rested with his shoulder for her pillow. Mostly the latter in fact. She was _entirely_ too contented as she was.

Careful not to wake him, Raven extracted herself from where she was curled up to his side. She had no trouble extracting her legs from where they wove with his, or her free left hand, but the right was pinned under him and she had to resort to telekinesis to lift him just enough to retrieve it. Once she was free she spent a moment sitting on her side of her bed to massage away the pins and needles sensation.

Upon attempting to stand she found another unforeseen discomfort from the night before; in that in that between her legs and inside her was sore from the sexual acts performed only hours before.

IT was only an inconvenience really, and she had some things to attend to before she would be up to dealing with another Titan. First was a shower, as she was sticky with dry sweat and had a bit of virgin's blood on her inner thighs. After that she had to see about breakfast, toast and tea for herself and some thing vegetarian (not tofu) for Gar. She hoped to finish before he awoke, wanting to be the first thing he saw, and once he had the two of the needs must figure out exactly where things stood between them. Oh, and she had to change her bedding because the though to sleeping in her own blood and fluids again tonight did not appeal at all…

…and she really had no idea how to process the fact that she had made love to one of her best friends last night yet.. It was best to stick to the mundane details until she could figure things out a little, talk to him, meditate, and hopefully forestall any more collateral property damage than she'd already caused in the last 24 hours.

So, first a shower.

Pulling a fresh leotard and cloak from her closet furnished her with hr ensemble for the day, but dressing before washing herself wasn't an option just now. Likewise it was never going to be a good time to make a break for the nearest communal bathroom in the nude. And, unfortunately Raven, she-of-the-limited-wardrobe, did not own a bathrobe.

By way of a solution she shrouded her nudity with the slightly soiled cloak discarded on the floor between the bed and the door. Well conscious of the possibility of being exposed by an errant breeze or similar unfortunate circumstance, she opted to clasp ti not only with the broach at her neck, but also with a belt around her waist. And she had just the belt. With an uncharacteristic grin she took up Gar's uniform belt and set it in place. It was fitted and hung too high on her wider hips. No matter, she was teleporting to the bathroom door anyway.

Idly Raven speculated if wearing Gar's utility belt like this was the superhero equivalent of using one of his oversize shirts as a nightshirt. Musing, she was soon subsumed by the obsidian rapturous form of her soul-self.

* * *

After a scalding hot, ach easing shower and changing into something more presentable, Raven came through the sliding doors to find the common room trashed but empty. The temporary dance floor was strewn with confetti, napkins, and deflated balloons. The punch bowl was overturned, and by the smell had indeed been spiked by _someone_ at _some point_, most likely Arsenal, who had access to disturbing amounts of alcohol through his less than reputable mentor. There were used plastic cups everywhere and the sink was full of dishes. There was a puddle of half-dried vomit in the corner that was evidence of either inebriation or Star's national dish. If anyone had fallen asleep here last night they had apparently relocated to a room without massive sunlight-facing windows.

Wrinkling her nose at the refuse of several dozen teenagers as she cleared the heating surfaces of the range debris and tried to _find_the toaster she hardly noticed when the midmorning light of the room slowly dimmed.

**Raven, daughter of Arella, ward of Azar, Seed of Trigon, you have sinned.**

The deep, chilling tone of the voice was steeped in eldritch power and brokered no dispute. Upon hearing its pronouncement she had no doubt that she _had_ sinned and that she had already long since been passed judgment upon. There was no question of any appeal, there was no higher authority.

"Who are you?" she asked quietly with no doubt she would be heard as the room around her was slowly muted to black. Fear gripped her like nothing she'd experienced since her father's ascension.

**You know me.**

A figure seemed to step forward as from a great distance or a single step. The darkness shifting off him enough to revel shoulders mantled by a cloak of ectoplasmic green with a raised hood mirroring Raven's own most mysterious visage.

**I was included in your education in the laws of magic and also in the nature of Good and Evil.**

**It is my providence to level divine vengeance upon the sins of mortal men.**

Those obscure statements and the aura of terrible strength blotting out everything save his presence and the unforgiving darkness, Raven knew without a misgiving to whom she spoke.

"Uriel" the archangel's name was a frightened whisper, for if her supposition was correct all was lost.

**Before I fell from grace I was known by that name, and held an archangel's station.**

Now beneath the drape of his cloak an impossibly pail, inhumanly muscled and a ghostly face with patrician features seemed to materialize from its shadows. His eyes were twin voids, indistinguishable from the depthless black miasma that surrounded the pair of them, save for two white pupils in their infinite distance. Even in the indeterminate span between their forms, she could see those gleams of merciless doom took the grim form of eerie death's heads.

**For a span of time I am reduced. Bound to a wronged mortal soul as both penance and instruction. I am to be shown where to temper my duty with the simplistic morality of men. Only them may I be absolved and rejoin the host of the Silver City.**

He paused for a moment, and Raven began to hope that her failing, no matter how grave, wasn't so terrible to warrant her destruction. Not now, not when she was just finally happy. And in love! Why of all time must she be brought to trial now?

**It is because of the mercy within my mortal host that I have not visited upon the Lord's vengeance. Your sin is one of ignorance, and can yet be atoned for.**

Eldritch skeletal visages in his gaze glowed for a moment to emphasize the point.

**His reach is small yet. But in your ignorance you have weakened the barrier of your will that banished him at bay from the world. Already he moves to gather stray energies and lesser ghosts of this world to feed upon. I can feel the slow attrition as he devours those of them who have souls.**

**Soon he will gather to himself agents of malevolence and chaos. There are rituals to open this world girl, now that you've already acted as his foot hold here once.**

Her father. Trigon the Terrible. Scath. Death of Worlds. Plague of Dimensions. He was coming and it was all her fault. Tears rolled down her face and she cursed the absence of the numbness that held her most of her life.

**As events stand now, in a few short years he will have all in readiness. I cannot stop this. **

For once human emotion crept into his voice and visage as restrained frustration and guilt wracked his presence.

**I am charged with Gods punishment for mortals who embrace their sins. I am not empowered to execute a private war with a demon of such strength. That responsibility is another's. And those in the Beast's employ will know ways to obscure even my eyes. It would be nearly the day of ascension before I could sense the taint on them.**

**This limitation to my divine commission and your ignorance of the dread consequence of you lust are the reason I have tempered my judgment. I have need of an agent.**

"Love. Raven spoke, her emotions warring between petulant defiance and shock. "It wasn't just lust. It was love."

Shaken to her core Raven was still the disobedient daughter of an omnipotent demon, granddaughter of an alien god. For Azar's sake, her mother was born and raised in Gotham! Even reduced as she was by the revelation, she was still fierce.

**DO NOT TRIFLE WITH ME CHILD! YOUR MOTIVES ARE OF NO CONCERN. Your world ends in a few short years and you are to blame. Now chose your fate. Act as my mortal proxy from this day forward, strike at your father's disciples and atone; else face the holy restitution it is mine to lay upon you.**

"I…" There is wisdom in not making a pact with a being of power. Such things were binding, down to the soul and to break such an agreement is a dire thing. Given the choice between destruction and slavery, Raven hesitated. Still to save the world, to save her friends, to stop her sire, to save the man she was coming to love, she could and would sell her soul into this fallen angel's service. "Alright. I will be your bondswoman until the beast Scath is no longer a danger due to my actions. What would you have of me?"

**Go half breed. Find those who prey upon the souls of mankind, those I cannot punish. Seek tham out and destroy them utterly. Learn all you can put to use to slay your sire and those who serve him. Excise your heart of all mercy for them, and strike at them without remorse. **

**Become as I am, an avenging angel, and there may yet be hope for us all.**

* * *

Sandalwood incense, aged parchment, and woman's sweat.

The scent of Raven's room was shat roused Beastboy from his contented slumber and into the land of the living. Sprawled out in the supple midnight blue bedclothes of Raven's rather overlarge bed, Garfield was struck by the realization that the preceding night wasn't a product of his fevered imagination, followed fast on its heels by the fact Raven wasn't with him at the moment.

_Not that that's hard to imagine. She's always been an early riser._

Deciding that since she'd already began the day it would be presumptive to occupy her quarters any longer, he dressed(noting the absence of his belt) and made all haste to his room. Taking up a uniform for the day, he made a b-line for the shower.

Making his way to the common room for breakfast, he found the other resident Titans in the kitchen, going through the morning routine as best as they were able around the mess. Except for Raven.

"Good mourning." he greeted them, trying not to grin like the cat who caught the canary.

"a most glorious day to you , friend Beastboy." came Star's characteristic joyfully wordy greeting, "We were just about to partake in the meal intended to break the fast of the night."

"Cool," was his response, easily decoding Starfire's unusual personal dialect of English. ""What's to eat?"

"As for the remainder of the day we're acting as a cleaning crew for the metahuman mess that's left behind from last night," Cyborg said from where he worked the range stove, the sound of sizzling could be heard around his titanium bulk, "the three of us are having bacon, eggs, and toast, a classic beginning of the day for the working man. Our resident aesthetic will find her usual boiling water for tea and two slices of dry toast. And you, my vegetarian friend, are left either oatmeal or the leftover tossed salad from monday in the fridge. Which is only appropriate for the resident beast of burden."

"Har, har." the green teen responded with heavy sarcasm, "Just pass the instant oatmeal, tin man."

"Whatever you say, cowardly lion."

After fixing his breakfast, thankfully with no more comments from the metal plated peanut gallery, he sat down at the table with Robin and Starfire. Star seemed to be writing thank you notes to everyone who came to the party. Robin was flipping through some printed pages on the table with one hand and massaging his temple with the other.

"That bad?" Beastboy asked, figuring it was the damage report from last night.

Every time the Titans held a get together, two things had to happen. First, the Justice League was contacted and cajoled into taking up the slack for the duration by one of the Titan's whose mentor was a member, though never Robin, as no one was dumb enough to try and wheedle Batman out of extra man-hours for a party. Second, hosting city was notified of the impending event and forwarded billing instructions and the number for the Watchtower in case things got out of hand.

"Not particularly," the boy wonder, who was by now not in the least a boy, replied without looking up from the reports, "this is nothing compared to that casino night the Titans South hosted where Thunder and Lightning had to hock their armor."

"Yeah, I though for sure they'd cause a tropical storm." Gar replied, remembering the two Japanese kami's tantrum "Good call getting Pantha to extend their credit until they won it back."

"Luckily nothing that drastic happened this time. Almost no property damage, and what there is nearly all here on the island." Robin continued leafing through the collected papers, which did seem to be a relatively small stack. "Although there were reports of poltergeist activity throughout the city last night. And at least three tectonic events with the tower as the epicenter."

He looked up at Beastboy for the first time.

"Have you seen Raven? I'd like to talk to her about this."

"Not since last night." Gar answered with total honesty, while his self control strained to keep him from smirking at the mention of Raven's telekinesis going haywire so powerfully. But a gentlemen never kisses and tells.

_I guess the earth really did move for her last night. _

"I'm sure she'll turn up in time. She's probably just meditating if she lost control that badly last night." Beastboy continued without a hitch.

_Hell for all I know it's the truth._

"You're probably right, She'll be around once she gets her head straight."

* * *

But she wasn't. And when they became concerned with her absence that afternoon and searched the tower were unable to locate her. And Raven's comm was found crushed in the kitchen trash.

For the next two days they carpeted the area with as many of the Titans could be spared for the search without leaving their areas of responsibility vulnerable.

Of all of them, Beastboy searched the hardest. He refused all rest as he searched for their umbramancer teammate. Pushing his senses to the limit, he ranged for mile questing for a trace of her on the wind or the imprint of a woman's size seven elf boot in the dirt. When he felt exhaustion threaten to collapse him he shifted to insect, fish or amphibian forms that didn't require sleep until it passed. So it continued until in a rare stretch in which he was in his human form that received a call on his communicator.

.:: Beastboy, we have something. ::.

Robin's face appeared on the display. He didn't look happy.

.:: Head back to the Tower. ::.

* * *

The envelope was none descript and its face had only the address of the Jump City P.O. box the Titans used for official mail. No return Address, and the stamp was canceled with Jump City markings.

The handwriting inside was Raven's neat script, a calligraphy that in its odd elegance combined stroke elements from gothic script, Sanskrit, Hebrew, and some elements that looked to be from kanji. Raven had always claimed it was the type form favored for English in Azarath.

The Message was only three sentences. They were the most heartbreaking Garfield Logan had ever seen.

_I love you._

_Don't look for me._

_I'm sorry._

* * *

A/N:I know I went a little romance novel here, but I had my reasons. First, I needed Raven to be completely without self control, and I can think of no better time then in the embreace of _la petite morte, _especially her first time, to set up the Trigon elements as feasable. Second, it was the easiest way to establish intimacy between Raven and BB _now_ while keeping both of them off balance. Third, nothing gets an audience to pay attention like a good hook, and there's no hook like a sex scene. Finally, I've never written a Lemon before and thought I'd try my hand with one of my favorite (and genetically potent) pairings.

This will be a romance/adventure, so whie ther emay be more sex, I wouldn't look fpr it soon. The next chapter will be something else entirly, and the third will be different again.

I intend to draw on the entire decade and change of DC animated contiuity from BtAS to JLU, with additions in neglected areas from the comics continuity.


	2. A long Time Gone

Disclaimer: I do not own the intellectual property related to the Teen Titans, the DC/Vertigo universe, or especially any material of biblical or Hebrew origin. This work of fiction is not intended as a profitable venture.

Titanomachy:

A long time gone

_

* * *

_

Rachel was 24 years old, and lived in London. She was an American expatriate, and made her living in a dimly lit bookstore hidden strategically behind so many cramped back alleys that one would have to already know for a certainty its location in order to find it.

She had a small, two bedroom flat she shared with a female roommate who believed Rachel, a petite and attractive girl of considerable physical assets, spent most of her nights out on the town clubbing and meeting men. Rachel did nothing to discourage this idea, but refused to elaborate upon any of her escapades.

Rachel, whose I.D. claimed possessed the surname Roth, did not in fact waste her evenings in revelry and seduction. In truth this young woman, whose striking violet-blue eyes were framed by lengths of luxurious hair dyed India-ink black, was all but a virgin. What she did, where she went, who she met, and what she _did to them _when she found them were all things she hid from her silly roommate, who believed herself so serious just because her Philosophy class was covering a moral paradox inherent in the concept of government that Azarath had solved centuries past and that she herself had understood while just barely out of swaddling clothes.

By night she was not Rachel Artemis Roth, 24 years old, from Gotham city.

She was darkness.

She was eldritch.

She was a bird of prey.

She was _herself_.

* * *

_In a sultry jungle at the edge of the map, in the darkness, in the light, he hunted._

_The scents, the sounds and sign of a thousand lesser beasts shared the tangled living spiders web of vital vibrant things. Each of them, if he so chose, prey to be pursued. Even the mightiest of them. Especially the mightiest._

_For he hunted the most dangerous game._

_Slithering on his belly, his tongue sampling the air through the underbrush, he scented them. Paddling upstream below the waterline he could taste the cured leather of their boots. Swinging through the canopy he tracked them by the sounds of their progress._

_Higher still he stared down at them with a god's precision, missing nothing, stalking them. And planning._

_In truth he had no desire to harm these three men. Yet. He would not intervene unless they broke taboo. If, and probably when, they did he would be upon them._

_They knew he was here. He'd made sure of it. _

_And they knew to fear him. He'd made sure of that too._

_In the wilds, in the dark places where man did not yet rule, he waited._

_In the past years he'd put the fear in those outlaws of man and nature who ventured there. In every corner of the world where man raped nature he found them. _

_Poachers. _

_Loggers._

_Strip miners._

_Scavengers and defilers all._

_Any who entered his jungles risked breaking the laws he enforced. Laws written into his blood and bone, and theirs if they knew well enough to read them there. They were so simple._

_Kill, but only so that you may live._

_Eat, but no more than your portion._

_Nest according to your custom, but despoil not the nest of another needlessly._

_Breed, but not in such numbers to plague._

_Deny these rights to none, even to your worst enemy._

_Such simple laws, but by mankind they were forgotten. So it was his to use against them, to save them from themselves. If they had their way soon there would be nothing left but themselves and theirs. Like petulant, grasping children, they knew no better._

_His punishments were in truth merely the mild chastisements of a caregiver to a greedy infant. To break his laws meant nothing more than a forfeit, and to then be put to the jungle's mercy._

_The men below him, caught in his eagle's eyes, were poachers. Their nets and guns proclaimed that their business in this thicket was the capture of exotics, most likely after the murder of a mother an infant would be netted and sold to a zoo or smuggled as a pet for the amoral rich._

_But for him. Let them so much as twitch to sight in their rifles and he would be on them._

_His wings swept back in a stoop, his bones would flow as he fell into a falcon's for blistering speed. In an instant he'd be have rendered the first man down, a missile of bestial fury. While the second turned to sight him, he'd already be under the third's guard. Razor sharp claws would shred cloth and flesh, and the rifle would break in two with a bat of his great paw. The last man standing would get a few rounds into his back near the spine as he was occupied, but with his present bulk it would do little enough real damage. At this mass and density, flesh and muscle and bone held up like Kevlar. _

_All three of them alive, but thoroughly unconscious and bloodied, he'd take everything but the clothes on their backs and a single hunting knife between the three of them. The useful gear he'd sell in a nearby town for what few human needs he still maintained. The remaining rifles he'd crush, smash and twist beyond all use, then leave in their midst to taunt them. The rest of their gear he'd burn. _

_With a little luck they'd survive the miles long trek back to their camp with their injuries, only to find all their equipment ruined. There would be only supplies left to treat their wounds and food enough to nearly starve as they made all haste for civilization. They dare not kill another beast._

_But they would have to be very, very lucky indeed to live long enough to make it to the nearest settlement. Infection was certain to claim at least one of them. And there were the issue of the four known species of predators indigenous to the area known to feed on man._

_All in all, for one of them to drag himself to out of the tree line mad with fever and gibbering of the spirits of the forest to the other poachers would only be as likely as one in ten for an experienced forester, if that._

_He felt no guilt over the deaths he facilitated this way. In his way of seeing things all he had done was even the playing field. If men raided the last bastions of nature's bounty, then they should do it as their ancestors did, and as all other denizens of the world did. They would not, so long as he was here, turn their advantages against the world that nurtured them. He stripped them of their borrowed power and left them to the mercy of that which they harmed._

_Those that lived through his ordeal did so with no desire for the bounties of the jungle. And around the world men on the edges of civilization whispered of great green beasts that hunted men in the forest._

* * *

Here was London.

This earth is entwined in an infinite web of power. Leylines, faults and bindings both, channel powers from within the planet's core and deeper still across its surface. Along theses seems cracks and runnels form, bedding creeks that become rivers.

On one of this worlds river, like so many others, there is a city, great, gothick and grand. The Romans took a trading post, near the edges of their world to hold the conquered lands against the barbarian natives, and so gave it a name; Londinium. And it has long been the greatest city of this great island.

And, on certain terms at least, it was also the heart of its magical world. Here would come the vampires and succubae, the possessors and the despoilers of souls. Here were secrets and sins and sinners in plenty to be used, abused and consumed in plenty. Let the Fey have their forests and glens that shrunk every year and the tithe paid once in seven. Let the old magics of Merlin and Caliburn decay as they stoop heartless in caves or craven and perverse in the leaf mold.

Here was London! Here was the world, if you had the will to take it. Coal choked the air and bodies, dead or alive were for sale if the price was right. Pickpockets cluttered the streets and the queen's rule was the thing that defined the age. Industry and enlightenment flowed from great minds and the heart of an empire without night beat stronger than any other on earth.

And in the dark, in the depths, things supped on men. A doctor opens himself to evil while trying to exorcise it. A painting of a beautiful boy took into itself all ravages of sin and time, leaving all the hatefulness of a man hidden by glamour. A fledgling solicitor goes to the continent to see a derelict count and finds only perdition. Good and evil spar with wit and will, and in the end are lost to the mists of time, but not soon forgotten. A demon like a man flies through the sky with blazing eyes and comes to be known as Jack. Doxies butchered like animals send a city into the grip of fear, and no one ever finds out why the killer ever stopped.

Yes, here was London.

* * *

_Dr. Victor Stone had a doctorate in electrical engineering at age 18. By 19 he had another in mechanical engineering, which sited the T-car as his thesis project. By 20 he had another in the burgeoning field of nano-technology. At 21 he completed his degree in biology and entered into the private sector, forgoing an invitations for post doctorate work in several prestigious academic institutions to begin his life's work. _

_Victor had little love for his father, since the procedures he was subjected to unknowingly by his parent to enhance his mind when he was young. And the accident at S.T.A.R. labs that claimed his mother and forced the titanium prosthesis upon him only enhanced the resentment._

_He knew his father had saved him from a short, painful life as a limbless incomplete torso. He'd more likely than not prevented brain damage as well. In the creation of a perfect cybernetic form to house his son and give him back the better portion of the life he had lost, he had done nothing less than transform his progeny, human and machine alike, into technological marvels, miracles of the modern world. _

_The resentment was still there. His father his own flesh and blood had mad him something inhuman. Better, some would say. Others might call him monstrous. Before the Titans he would have been one of them. He had come to see his…differences, his mind and his body, as being blessings instead of curses. But he still remembered the feeling of sunlight on his skin and his muscles pumping and pulling with exertion. He still knows the sound of his mother's voice, and will never be able to bring himself to exercise her death in lurid detail in footage he hacked from S.T.A.R.'s systems, stored away deep in his silicon mind._

_But he would be a hypocrite not to admit to being his father's son. His mind and frame are of his father's design, and just in learning, grudgingly, to maintain and operate his new body, he became one of the world's leading experts in cybernetics. Ultimately it was because of, not in spite of his father he became a hero. And now he was completing his father's work. He was to give to others one of the gifts his sire gave to him. _

_New life._

_But Victor would not merely ride on his father's coat-tails, merely adapting what had been done before. No, he intended to do something an entire order of magnitude greater than what his father had accomplished. It was the right and obligation of all sons, to go right to the edge of his father's greatest achievement, and continue on without looking back. He would surpass those limits gleefully, if not entirely humbly or charitably to his father. There was a significant feeling of vindication to completely blow out of the water his old man's magnum opus, even if it was he himself. _

_Victor knew he was a cyborg in name only. Flesh and machinery were joined together, but like patchwork. The few salvageable human tissues and organs were surrounded by decidedly alien robotic and quasi-medical components that enabled him to live. Even in his artificial organs and immune system (the loss of his limbs making profusion of immunity blood cells problematic) there was no real integration of organic and technological. There was only replacement, or replication, no unity. He was a broken man on the world's most versatile and perfect life support. _

_But if he succeeded, Dr. Stone the younger, would create something better. No longer would a amputee need to imagine the simple human contact of a hand's warmth clasped within their own. He would recreate human flesh and bone, and bond it fast to living tissue. No more would the loss of an eye or the rending of spinal tissue mean the loss of something vital. If needed he would synthesize a whole new body. He would create this power._

_Now, looking at the cylinder of hollow glass that would soon hold an adroit form of his own construction, he thought of the secret, hidden reason for all this. The selfish desire that drove him just as hard as his most noble. The purpose that meant he would be the first to test the process, the benefits of his unique physiology aside, a mere pretext. _

_For the first time in many, many, years he would truly be a man again._

* * *

There was in London, like in many cities, an underworld below, around and inside the face it presented to the world made up of the torrid and the criminal. And in London, as in many(but far fewer than the above) cities, there was _another_ underworld. This select section of the city was accessible by the above, but once you entered you never really left. Here in this labyrinthine _neverwhere_ shadows walked and moonlight danced, at some times more literally than others.

This was the world of magic and menace. Victims and adepts descended into the depths, to deal with demons and Fey and lost gods. They bartered memories and years of their lives, fingers and dreams, souls sold two at a time in trade for dubious charms and ersatz elementals. Power passed hands like the newest designer drugs. Those who went to these places for the first time rarely left, and never in the same condition as they entered.

Here a name had power; not a Moloch or Mammon, or even a Magog(just yet) meant anything. True names are powerful and no doubt there but drop the right name of a big operator and you wouldn't have to deal with demons or dance with the devil to get you due.

John Constantine's reputation had cleared out more demon drinking holes than he knew about, most of them without his ever setting foot inside, leaving alone what some "people" were willing to cough up just to never have a chance to meet him.

To anyone in the know a name was everything. You lived or died by your reputation and anyone who knew your true name owned you lock stock and barrel.

Which made it all the more disturbing when demons went missing, and no one took the credit. Not just a few, and not just weaklings. Powerful beings of darkness just started to drop off the map. Incubi and fiends who had been festering in their own corruption since out of memory were gone without a trace. Anyone or anything that took down one of these old players would usually had used them as capital to build up a reputation. But no one claimed them. And there was no word, none in a climate rich with seers and prophecy of every possible description all to be had for a small price.

It was worrying.

* * *

Blüdhaven was founded in the early 18th century by Germanic and polish immigrants who had taken up the profession of seamanship, and were in need of a safe harbor to finally tie them to the earth after fleeing the armies of Napoleon that were quickly encroaching upon Europe. Taking refuge in an unclaimed harbor, they in time built homes and businesses that befitted their particular nautical bent and in time the scattered settlements did well, if not very well, for themselves supporting the whaling trade.

Gathered together under one government as a commonwealth in 1912, the livelihood of the area had by then long switched to an industrial and shipping center with the disfavor of whale oil, but again without much commercial success. Though near the railroad trunk lines and easily accessible to supplies of steel ore and coal Blüdhaven was never the industrial powerhouse of its quite near northerly neighbor Gotham City. Still, much of the steel used in the construction of Gotham's high-rises in the 1920's was forged in 'haven. The steel mills were the beating heart of the city for a time, but before long they became toxic to the metropolis around them. The Great Depression crippled business interests and banks in the city, and the mills and foundries never recovered.

There had always been an organized criminal element in Blüdhaven, much like Gotham. It began with smuggling aboard the whaling ships; everyone from captains to swabs replacing ballast with contraband under the table to line their wallets. When industry came in it wasn't long until protection was a bigger cash cow than the foundries, and more reliable. Gangs were rented, bought and sold by unions and corporations both during the early 20th century and in the end were the only ones who had clearly benefited from the exchanges. Prohibition saw expansion into bootlegging, rum running, prostitution, and the occasional bank robbery. By then it was all downhill.

Crime had been the de facto industry, export and government in Blüdhaven for the better part of a century when Dick Grayson enrolled in the Police Academy. He knew that the whole of the police force was in _somebody's_ pocket. He knew that there would be no help from the locals, enough federal racketeering charges had fallen though in the city limits to prove that. He also knew that any conviction was going to be like pulling teeth from a Tyrannosaur with corruption left, right and center. But he knew something even more important.

Bruce had asked for his help.

Blüdhaven, blight upon the world that it was, was also about a 20 minute drive to Gotham on the highway(if you caught the 3am to 5am dead time). Therefore those of the criminal element who were being pursued the law would retreat back to the relative safety of 'haven for a few weeks. Bruce, seeing the trend had several times made the commute to the smaller but more thoroughly corrupted city. Disgusted by the pervasive rot he found with the slightest digging, he knew something had to be done. He in turn, had asked Dick to come to Blüdhaven and rectify the situation.

By then the titans were long over and Dick had a new name, a new attitude, and fewer attachments than he had in years. Frankly, he had no idea what to do with himself until he got the call.

And it was Bruce, theBatman, asking him to take charge of protecting a city. Since the bad business with the Joker shooting him in the arm had driven a wedge between them Bruce had been decidedly frosty in their interactions, even for him. This was the first sigh of his acknowledging Dick's competence and ability as a crime fighter. If he had done this when the boy wonder was 15 then there never would have been a Teen Titans in the first place.

So he went, and became a police officer. And at night Nightwing chipped away at the criminal element one crime boss and thug at a time. It was long, it was arduous, it was a fight just to keep going out every night. He loved it. It was like the stories Bruce told him of the first years in Gotham. The crooks wanted to kill him, the cops wanted to hand him over to the crooks, and his only allies were Oracle and her Birds of Prey. And to be fair, the bird were more geared toward a la carte hero word than the sort of grinding patrol and pursue he and Bruce needed to keep an entire city under control. Babs still had his back on the information front though, and knowing that any of a dozen metahuman and martial artist could be one Oracom away in a serious emergency was reassuring. They just left the 9 to 5 trudge and the legwork to him.

Sometimes at night alone, when the whole world was against him and his allies were miles away, he'd stare up at the stars and think back to when there was something anything in his life but his city, his mission, and his burden. And he felt the weight of it, that other place and time, and the weight of Blüdhaven, of _his _city on his back. And he knew he wouldn't give up what he was or what he did or how for a while he was happy with the Titans, but nor would he give up the solid, somber solitude of his present. At times like these, more than any other time in his life, he can see why people call him his father's son.

And not the father he was born to.

* * *

All demons, true demons had a sigil. By that I mean that all fallen angels and their descendants, not to be confused with nature spirits or any other of various descriptions of bogymen, all had a Name. A Name, as opposed to a name, is a description of a being woven into both its fabric and that or the universe itself, because those that bear them are a _part_of the universe itself. And a sigil, by extension is the written form of a sigil, in the angelic script. The damned angels when they fell, had all of their divine purity purged from them in the fires of perdition, and thus their Name and their sigil changed to accommodate their new natures. Where once their was glorious transcendent beauty, now there was terrible draconian degradation.

This would all be rather interesting if incidental information to anyone not interested in theology, metaphysics or demonology; save that in the events this narrative describes, demons were dying. And not just that, their sigil were changing as they die. Drastically.

The demons- when they were found, if they were found, were all either maimed using objects from the environment or shredded by blades exactly as fine as the space between living and dieing. These were self evident to whoever saw the grizzly ruin of the hell spawn, but of the(to use the term in its loosest possible definition) murderer there was never any trace at all even to magic.

And their sigils, for those who had the eyes to read them, were an entirely other horror show.

They read like the ramblings on the worst sort of schizophrenic. Where once language the language in which the universe had been written was forged into a darkly sublime composition of corrupted purity, lost love of God and seething hatred for everything including and especially themselves; now there was only broken grammar and horrifying long monstrous streaks of language, the same words over and over again.

There were markings there for darkness, and will. Script spoke of crystals…or was it gems(the readers could never agree), and portals in small infinitely complex spots like blood splatter on a wall against the rest of their Name. Great tears in the language describe birds of prey in consummate detail. The rune for the human soul ascendant was tattooed on the demons' spirits.

But worse was what was taken. The core of the devils strengths were taken… just gone, replaced with these mad snatches of some other identity. Power over matter, or over the firmament was gone without a trace from many. Others lost their power over the darkness as they die. Spell working was stolen from still others. And more raw symbols of power were ripped from them like whole snatches of text torn from a codex. But every fallen angle anyone ever found, and they were far fewer than those who disappeared mark you, was found missing whole tracks of itself one way or another.

And the dark things, those who threw themselves to the darkness by their own will and pride and wrath, began to whisper as they gathered fearfully around fires sputtering with human fat dripping from the spit. They feared, for the first time in a long, long, time not something of the light, but the swallowing abyss around them. This was no vengeful angel or white knight. Out there, somewhere in the dark, was a deeper darkness than the night, a deeper more potent darkness than their own. It hunted them, and tore at their selves to feast upon their spirit and strength.

It made them feel very small, and very afraid.

And very human in that fear.

* * *

Koriand'r knew from her earliest memories that she was a princess. And from the time she was old enough to understand she knew that being a princess , and indeed any royalty, meant dedication to two ideals. These were love and duty.

As intended by her lessons they were meant to apply to her people, her family and her planet. It was only after coming to Earth that she came to identify them to other things.

Indeed on Earth as she came to understand the decidedly alien concept of "nice" that she realized that she _wanted_to be "nice". She didn't want everyone and everything not her ally or subordinate to be a target, nor did she really think a lack of aggression as weakness, necessarily. She had never told anyone that she really disliked combat(it just wasn't done) and Komand'r was always so very much the warrior princess of the two that she had never felt like it was what she was best at or meant for. Still, she _was_ a princess of a warrior race and learned, even if she would rather have been doing anything else.

On Earth she learned that it was possible to be pleasant to someone without being subservient, and sound she enjoyed doing so, so she was. And she found that she could love someone who wasn't of her family or her nation or even her species, which is very dangerous information for a crown princess. Earth was, in short her second home, the place that while it could never replace Tamaran, still kept her from missing it in the way that being off-world for more than a few days used to make her pine for the towering wind worn edifices of her homeland's stone aeries.

And she did fall in love, all at once and over a long while. Dick was the reason she wanted to stay on that odd blue world, to understand him, know him. Because somehow they connected when they first met, and she had no idea, really what that could mean for them. And then there were the titans and they were a family in many ways more than her own royal relatives.

Her parents were distant, always working to keep Tamaran safe and strong, her sister was jealous she had been passed over for the crown even though she was the better fighter(and she did learn to fly eventually), and her cousins were all scheming courtiers who Starfire wouldn't trust as far as she could throw Gar at his most massively saurian. Really all she missed of her world in any really noticeable was the world itself and her K'norfka Galfore, even though she loved her family dearly.

But still, love and duty were her life. For a time she allowed herself of choosing the Titans and the Earth as the ones she dedicated herself to, but only for a time. Galfore could only act as her regent for so long after she came of age, and she always knew and dreaded that she would have to return to her world and take the throne. Still she put it off as long as she had a reason to stay. For a long time that reason was Dick, even after the Titans disbanded when Raven left and Gar withdrew himself from everyone. But it came to the point , like all romances, where they had to decide whether they were willing to, or even could spend the remainder of their lives together. She wanted to, of course she did, but she knew she had to return home. And Dick… he had responsibilities to himself and his mentor and to the memory of his parents. She could understand that. Dick Grayson, adopted son of Bruce Wayne, couldn't be seen dating (much less eventually marrying) alien princess turned superhero/supermodel Starfire without someone making a few very dangerous guesses. It was too much of a risk all around, or at least that's what he eventually convinced her of, for them to finally fully commit to one another.

So they… parted ways. Amicably, at least so far that they didn't have a fight, but everyone could tell that they were tearing out a piece of themselves to let go of what they had.

Koriand'r went home, more than a little heartbroken. She took the throne of Tamaran, and was a competent, compassionate, and beauteous queen. She kept her race safe, and strong, just as her parents had, and fought like a Thanagarian with a chip on her shoulder when she found the need. The years passed, and she though of her home every night, instead of her homeworld.

And she stood for the first time torn between her love and her duty.

* * *

In the pre-dawn hours when she allowed herself to sleep, Raven rarely dreamt. She took measures to ensure it after the first few weeks away from the tower brought her slumber nothing but visions of what she left behind and forbidding phantasms of what was coming so obviously her own creation due to the pervasive sullen anger and disappointment that the off chance of a prophesy was so remote it didn't bear considering. So she mixed her evening tea with herbs for dreamless sleep. If there was one thing studying magic with a bunch of monks who debated more passionately between oolong and green tea than about anything else, it was that you knew your herb lore.

So when she saw a familiar ghastly green cloaked visage in an infinite void within her mind's eye she knew her resting mind was being invade by a higher power. This one was, by her own admission, at the moment her superior. That his message was so short and simple was, in all honesty characteristic of Uriel if a bit anticlimactic.

**Your time has come. Your father approaches. Stop him, or face your world's end and you own perdition.**

And at her instant awakening she looked and saw by her alarm it was still an hour from dawn, which meant scarcely an hours sleep for her, and began preparations to leave.

She left her share of this months' rent for her roommate on the kitchen table but no explanation, save that she wouldn't be back. She had left all of her effects.

Raven was already halfway across the Atlantic, flying enshrouded by her avian soul-self half in a meditative trance.

It was time to contact the only people who could help her fight her father, the family she had turned her back on to prepare for this moment, the home her leaving may have destroyed.

She was going to Blüdhaven.

* * *

A/N: Ok, this took a long time to work out, but I think I got it down.. Tell me what you think of it, and I know, it was pretty much just a second prologue, but in my defense the time lapse was necessary from my evolution of the characters to be enacted properly. I will admit now, before you see what their really like(this was always meant to be more of a teaser) that I've been inspired by a few future depictions of the Titans from the comics(facilitated by wikipedia), while at the same time playing fast and loose with the mythology here.

Raven was very much the star of this chapter, even though the perspective on her life in the time lapse is all over the place, including a good chunk of history. The whole London thing will serve some purpose later though, at the least when I bring in John Constantine for a bit of consulting work for about five minutes(great scene between him and Robin planned out, if I can remember the dialogue properly).

I'm really looking forward to your Take on my interpretations, spare though they are, of the adult former titans. Review if you have something, anything, to say.


	3. Birds of a Feather

Disclaimer: I do not own the intellectual property related to the Teen Titans, the DC/Vertigo universe, or especially any material of biblical or Hebrew origin. This work of fiction is not intended as a profitable venture.

Titanomachy:

Birds of a feather

In many modern cities, as has been the case for the last hundred years of so, are constantly covered over with a patina of air pollution encrusting the sky from horizon to horizon. This cloak of fumes darkens the days, and during the nights reflects back into the cities their own light pollution as a constant low level glow like the last dregs of twilight or the first hints of dawn consistently during the hours of darkness. It is this urbane werelight that casts shadows for the world's costumed vigilantes, even in the moonless depths of midnight.

Blüdhaven, Raven found, was no different from London in this fact, as she slid through alleyways and across roofs immersed still in her own avian shadow.

It had been a long fight over the Atlantic, and even forgoing her physical form making the transcontinental journey, she was tired when she arrived in the late afternoon. She had rested in an abandoned building until after nightfall, using strong and subtle wards to guard her as she performed the ritual meditation that allowed her to largely go without sleep or sustenance. At the very least it would give her time enough to meet with her contact before exhaustion claimed her.

Not that he knew she was coming.

Nor, for that matter, did her former team leader know where she'd been for the last half decade or even if she was still alive.

Still, if there was a place to start looking to get the old band back together, tricky Dick Grayson was the man with A)an in with the superhero establishment, in the form of his seriously intense mentor; B)a direct, constant line to the Oracle, queen hacker of the information age and information broker to the forces of good, if the chatter from those discrete few in the powered community she maintained contact with as a way of keeping her hand in was to be believed; and C) an actual publicly known address, which is more than could be said for the others, who had apparently dropped off the edge of the world nearly as well as Raven herself a few years after the fact, for all the limited information she could get her hands on.

So the erstwhile antichrist was in Blüdhaven, looking for a crime that would attract the attention of Nightwing: the man, myth, the legend.

Distractedly, as she stretched out her senses to perceive the bright flash of will and hope a hero of Dick's caliber would tear into the downtrodden mosaic of despair, avarice and fear that was 'Haven's psychic signature, she wondered if he still wore inappropriately tight pants in public.

When she found her former teammate he wasn't looking particularly heroic. He looked like he hadn't slept for three days, longer if you discount passing out onto half-finished paperwork, and he was yellng irately at a balding man several years his senior and several times his body fat percentage.

From where she levitated a discrete distance away from a police precinct somewhere downtown that would have been slums in any city but Blüdhaven, she could see through the picture windows down into the undifferentiated office space being occupied by the currently uncostumed vigilante, as well as more criminals than she cared to count and a gaggle of his coworkers, the Blüdhaven P.D.

Judging by the sheer number, and condition of the criminals, a major police action had just taken place. Judging from the condition of the constabulary, it happened at least in part the previous evening and none of them had been allowed to leave yet. Making the assumption that this could go on indefinitely, and knowing her endurance couldn't, Raven opted to speed things along and get Dickie out of the building.

With a slight metal push as he lowered his hand to complete yet another form, she violently detonated the ink cartridge in his pen. As he used the tissues from the box on his desk to wipe ink off his hand, she sculpted the stain on the paper into a very distinct symbol, he of all people was sure to recognize the uppercase T fixed in a circle like the Vitruvian Man. At his noticing it and looking around in search of message's origin, she resculpted the stain into a single word "ROOF". Once he saw it and in his nervousness made a minor blunder by making a show of going to "take a smoke" which earned him some odd looks from his fellow officers who knew he hadn't touched a pack in his life, he made his way to the access stairway and up and out through the rooftop access door. Raven, slightly amused at his antics, saw fit to repair his pen and psionicly remove the stains on his paperwork before levitating gently to the rooftops, all while Dicky sprinted up the top five flights of the precinct house.

By the time he'd exited onto the roof, she was levitating effortlessly inches off the tarpaper. Seeing her, for the first time in half a decade brought him up short as he exited the access door. In a moment he recovered himself and approached her. Surprise flashed across his face, soon followed by mild anger and confusion, before amusement won out in the end.

Cocking an eyebrow, he shifted into his Nightwing persona. Seeing him change without the mask and jumpsuit illustrated the mental aspect of the transformation. Before her eyes he seemed to gain… density somehow, like the idea of his being a hero made him bulletproof. When it happened, it was like the entire world seemed to focus on him a little more than it had, he seemed more significant. Yes, this was certainly the man who Robin had grown into.

"Raven, long time..." He began, his tone more mocking and carefree than she was used to. "You look good."

Raven had, over the years abandoned her Azarathian attire in concession to both modesty and practicality. It was entirely too cold in London to expose as much skin as she had when she was younger, it left her exposed too many easily avoidable scratches, and with the number of hellspawn she dealt with on a weekly basis, she really didn't need the grief of catcalls inspired from the middle management of the pits of the lustful.

Instead she had elected to wear a black dress, well an evening gown really, but she had warded it to armor somewhere between Kevlar and chain mail, and wear like silk. It was three quarter sleeved and slit up her left side to the hip for mobility. The length of it covered from a little above her ankles to the off the shoulder flat neckline that crossed her bosom and artfully fit her just short of having visible cleavage in evidence. She had kept her kid skin elf boots, which were comfortable and reasonably practical. She had also allowed her hair to grow out to about her mid back, dyed it pitch black, and pinned it admittedly a bit carelessly up into in deference to the hood of the cloak that adorned her shoulders. As always it was able to completely envelope her form beneath its mantle when her particular talents required it and it currently shrouded her face. In her opinion she looked, in full sorceress' apparel; elegant, superior, dark, and intimidating. That she was also exotic and sexy as hell in a swords and sorcery sort of way was merely a fringe benefit she hadn't taken advantage of.

"I haven't heard from you since the Titans." He continued, "And considering the company I keep, that's saying something. Actually, that reminds me. Hold on for a second."

He reached into his side pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He hit three numbers, then dial, followed by a long series of digits Raven didn't bother following, then brought it to his ear and apparently responded to a security protocol with "Countersign N-W-D-G". He then hit a button on the side and set it on the ground as about halfway between them.

"Raven, I would like you to meet the all seeing Oracle. O, this is Raven of Azarath, formerly of the Teen Titans."

_..: Charmed, :.._ came the terse reply. Raven, having never met let alone knowingly irritated the woman as the tone would imply, figured she was mad at Dick for some reason, probably the misuse of a secure channel. The sorceress though she could hear typing, and had no doubt that is this woman's reputation was at all warranted, then her life story was being pulled up even now.

"So, what's the occasion?" the former boy wonder asked, "After five years incommunicado, why get in touch now, Raven?"

Wordlessly, she dropped the hood of her cloak and channeled the mystic forces within her in such a way to manifest their pattern into the world. Instantly, runes and sigils were tattooed into her skin, no longer just the thin lines along her arms, leg, back and belly, now every inch of her save her face was filled with edge to edge symbols in the demonic dialect of the angelic script. Black, eye watering shapes wreathed her body, pushed to the surface like maggots tunneling up through a corpse. Her face was bordered with thorny language and apocryphal ideas. Runes and calligraphy intertwined and blurred into one another, somehow leaving the impression of thick obsidian feathers wreathing Raven's pale flesh. On her third eye, burning under her chakra gem was the Mark of Scath, red as the fires of hell.

The conclusion was obvious.

"Trigon." Dick's simple statement wasn't surprised exactly, or alarmed. But it was concerned. He had been anticipating this possibility, but had been hoping against it. He considered for a moment, and then asked simply, "What do you need?"

"The Titans."

Several hard hours' flight across the ocean in Raven's former apartment, her roommate, one Elaine Belloc was looking at the still sealed envelope containing one single paragraph neatly transcribed onto a sheet of the thick, porous, ink absorbent paper Raven preferred, and enough paper money to pay for half of the rent for the rest of the month.

She knew this, even though she had not and would not open the envelope. She knew everything, when she allowed herself to, when she felt like it. She was really only here on a whim, to see the girl who had caused such a disturbance in the order of things first hand. But it had been fun, to limit herself for a while, to meet the girl who was to do so much in what was ultimately her service. It was good to be her friend, though Raven condescended inside her head to her and was prickly and always held herself apart.

But Elaine loved her, Elaine loved everyone, and it was good to be near Raven while she was prepared for the coming battle. Elaine had wanted to actually see her, with her own eyes in the act of becoming what she was to be.

Ignoring the money she would never spend and the letter she never needed to read, Elaine considered how to affect her exit until her part came at the end, where the quest ended and the boons were won. She could just disappear, into thin air, never to be seen again. Or she could never have existed in the first place, just erase her mortal presence from this and several adjacent alternate universes just by willing it so. Or she could go downstairs, cancel her lease, move back home (the family was new to her current role, even though they remember things differently), and wait awhile in the life she was trying on for size. Lacking any urgency(there was little that was truly urgent to her anymore), she idly blew her line-straight bob-cut black bangs out of her cornflower blue eyes and pondered at her leisure.

But really, _everything _was at her leisure.

"Raven… that might not be possible." Nightwing hedged, realizing that this would not at all be welcome news.

"I need you, Victor, Kory and Gar. Each of you was animate the last time my father came to Earth. That's more than anyone else can say, even the Justice League." Raven stated this baldly, with her characteristic lack of inflection, though Dick thought he sensed some buried irritation… "The protections I laid upon you last time will still be in effect. My father has been preparing…for a long time. Soon his emissaries will find a way to breach the fabric of reality and allow him access. I need all the help I can get; else I would not ask this of you."

"I know that, and you have me." He began, seeking to dull her pique "I'm in this for the long haul, always have been. But as for the rest of them…

"Kory is on Tamaran. She'll come, but it will take time for her to arrange things at court so she can take a leave of absence, and then she has to travel here. I'll send and outbound message to through the League.

"Victor is easy to find, he works with Steel in Metropolis. Last I heard he's in the middle of some huge next-gen R&D project. Just getting in to see him will take time, but I don't doubt he'll come either.

"Gar is the problem child here. He's currently off the map, has been for years. He signed up with the JLU a few months after you left, stayed for about a year, and then took a leave of absence. No one has seen him since. He could be dead for all the trace he's left behind, except for a few delusional poachers and loggers who stumble out of the rain forests every few months near death raving about green animals. No pattern to his movements though, and no way to know how many missing people each year he's responsible for, not in the areas the reports are coming from." He paused for a moment and had the grace to look slightly abashed, "Last I heard he had a sanction on his head from the League."

Raven waited a moment as he explained the last know whereabouts of their friends, and lifted her hood to shadow her face, even as she allowed the ebon sigils in her skin to fade. Her question was characteristically to the point.

"But can you do it?" she asked, one eyebrow raised in an almost playful challenge.

"Definitely," he responded with a cocky smirk.

_..: But it won't be a walk in the park getting the team together, and it'll take more time to get things cleared with the League. :.. _That was Oracle again, obviously used to running herd on Nightwing's unburden optimism, now that he wasn't laden with the responsibilities of a team leader and the burden of other's wellbeing quiet so directly. _..: We should be able to get a free license to operate under the Vendetta clause in the League charter to bar them from unrequested interference in a delicate situation. Batman uses that all the time, Gotham is basically on hero lockdown because of it unless thing really hit the fan. :.._

"I hear a 'but' coming" Raven said in a tone in what could have been minor whining had it been anyone but her using it. Her augustness sounded merely wary.

..: But… getting Changeling cleared of his capture on sight? Not so easy. He's effectively been an eco-terrorist for three or four years. :..

"What about the Emergency Criminal Amnesty clause?" Dick asked, not concerned in the slightest. No one knew bureaucracy like Babs, after all. There were _some_ uses for a degree in Library sciences.

_..: Possible, as long as you can get him to agree to joining up and running like hell after the bodies hit the floor. I think B argued the courtesy head start for services rendered down to fifteen minutes last quarter. :.._

"Ouch" Dick grunted

"He'll come." Raven said with no hesitation. Seeing the crime fighter across from her pop an eyebrow in question or amusement, she elaborated. "I don't believe Gar would ever be selfish enough to turn his back on all of us, let alone the world. No matter how much he hates me, or how certain it is he'll be caught afterwards, he'll be there with us. Don't worry about him. If we find him, and make him understand what's happening, then nothing on earth could stop him."

_..: If you say so. :.._ The voice on the other side of the connection sounded a little put off by the faith Raven had expressed so freely. _..: N, I'll start the paperwork we'll need. Come to the base later to help me finish up. :.._

"Sure thing, see you then. Nightwing out." Dick said just before he hung up his cell. He looked at Raven, who had turned to walk, er… float toward the edge of the roof to depart.

"Raven," he called just loudly enough to get her attention. In response she turned half around and met his gaze. He continued, "You're still in love with him, aren't you?"

"Yes" She replied with no hesitation, but also no sign of further explanation forthcoming.

"Then why did you leave? It nearly killed him when you left. He loved you, and you abandoned him, Raven." He sounded angry now, and confused. She couldn't blame him. What said next was softer though, where before his voice was rising in volume with each sentence. "Please, just help me understand, if for no other reason than that I need to know to help. Why did you go?"

"I had no choice. I wasn't allowed to stay." Even after five years he still knew Raven well enough to hear the anguish she felt at the memory, little though she may betray herself.

"_Allowed_? Raven, I've never known you to take orders from anyone, not unless you believed they were the best person to be in command. What was it that made you leave us?"

The dark young woman hesitated, carefully considering her reply. There was only so much information she could give him, but if she wanted his help then he had to understand the gravity of her situation.

"They were very powerful, Dick. More than all of us together could ever have hoped to deal with." Raven was quite now, and as she turned back around he thought he may have seen tears in her eyes. "And they told me my father was coming and that I could no longer stay, not if he was to be stopped. I wasn't given any choice. I was given an ultimatum, and leaving was the lesser of two evils."

At the edge of the precinct house she turned around and regarded him, her face stern, even though her eyes were beginning to look slightly red.

"And that is all I can tell you and all you need to know."

Taken aback by being put so firmly in his place Nightwing was careful with what he said next.

"I'll find you when we've finished our preparations and are ready to gather up the others."

"Thank you, but no. I'll find you." And with that she was gone, swallowed by the shadows.

It was only as he went below that Officer Grayson realized that for all her emotional turmoil in those last moments, Raven had caused absolutely no damage to the rooftop whatsoever.

Later that evening, as the all seeing Oracle was engrossed with trying to requisition the paperwork to kick-off the sort of operation Dick had promised to a woman he hadn't seen in five years in the name of saving the world, A shadowy figure was stalking up behind her. Given the time she saw in the corner of her display, Dick's shift ending not long ago and his average travel time between the precinct and her balconied but discreetly fortified loft apartment, Babs thought she had a good idea who it was.

So, when he leaned over her shoulder and planted a small kiss on her left cheek, instead of relaxing and leaning back into it like usual, she frowned a little and pulled away after a second.

"I'm still ticked at you." She said with just enough banter in her tone to inform him that it was momentary.

"Why?" he asked, as he stood up, as confident as the cat who caught the canary.

"Because, Dick, you promised that ex teammate of yours the moon not two hours ago!" she half yelled in frustration, "Do you have any idea the amount of paperwork involved with this sort of thing with both early warning and premeditation? A lot! And you didn't even try to verify what she was telling you, or dissuade her from what she wanted. And all that vague talk about her reasons for needing the old Titans hardly explains anything."

"Barbra, she wouldn't joke about Trigon, none of the Titans who were there the last time would. Not ever." His tone was serious, but not reproachful, "And Raven knows him better than anyone, if she says we're the only ones who can help, then I believe that. The last time, he was here for all of thirty seconds and the League was down. Everyone was down. There were five people on the face of the earth and six billion some odd statues."

"Oh," was all she said, clearly a little gob smacked by the size of the problem. "And there's no one else who could help? What about Zatanna, or Dr. Fate? Or the Stranger?"

In the reflection of her flatscreen she saw Nightwing shake his head.

"Not last time. Maybe with this warning they could manage something, but…" He sighed with a lack of confidence, "We can't afford to rely on the Justice League this time. They can do whatever they can to help find a way to stop it, and should by all means look for a way to help fight should the worst happen. In the end, though, it's the five of us."

"Alright," the former Batgirl considered after a moment of consideration, "Then I suppose I have no place to be bitching about paperwork. I'll finish up here and see what I can dig up on the others before I turn in."

Nightwing, however had other ideas, as he was pulling a chair from the dining room table up to one of the multiple currently unoccupied keyboards on the desk, his domino mask no onger diguiseing his boyish good looks.

"And I'll help pull up the last known intel on the team and Trigon before I head out to that Arms bust at pier six. I know I'll take three times as long as you would, but at least that's one less thing for you to do."

His reward for that was a grateful but quick kiss on the lips, before they both lost themselves in the uplink to the Watchtower.

A/N; Ok, first actual non-prolouge chapter. This starts the first story arc (yes there are multiples, although with my writing rate…) which will be dedicated to the collection of the titans and the introduction of the enemies, who should surprise you. I have some old ones and some ones from the comics that fans of the show may not even know about, and a few I made up who will probably be totally inaccurate compared to whoever DC decides to write into the plot hole that spawned them. Look forward to the evilness.

Also, I know there's a lot of Star/Rob love out there, and that may of you find the pairing hinting I did here distasteful. I ask that you roll with it a little as I make with the ex-girlfriend angst and have Dicky man up and actually make a decision on his own for once. I'm not saying anything definite about it yet (I'm still not 100 on the outcome myself) but the rid will be fun.

As always review if you love it, hate it, whatever… feedback is food for inspiration.


	4. More Human Than Human

Disclaimer: I do not own the intellectual property related to the Teen Titans, the DC/Vertigo universe, or especially any material of biblical or Hebrew origin. This work of fiction is not intended as a profitable venture.

Titanomachy:

More Human than Human

Sebastian Batholomew Blood, eighth prophet of the Church of Blood, worshipped the devil.

Or rather, he worshiped a nigh-unto omnipotent inter-dimensional demonic entity of congealed human sin. It amounted to largely the same thing. You sacrifice some goats, rape a few virgins, take avarice and malice as personal virtues, and affect a revilement of the more traditional Abramic cults.

It was all par for the course.

However, the clandestine worship of Scath had a few... hidden catches. You see, he liked to _take an interest_. As anyone with a manager with similar tendencies could tell you, that never ends well.

So, twenty some odd years ago Sebastian had overseen the procurement of a girl, let's call her Angela Roth, because that's what her licence said, for the purpose of being his master's concubine. He never asked why, and after she escaped somewhere he was unable to follow and his master let the issue drop he no longer cared. Eventually, he found out anyway. Working with hellish beings, you learn not to ask questions.

So he didn't so much as raise an eyebrow when one of the church's mediums directed him to personally perform an invocation ritual at this specific astrological alignment, in this particular city before the poor sod started vomiting organs.

When you get word from the bottom, you follow it. You don't think about it or dither, you get your cyberneticalyenhanced ass into a cab, catch the first flight to Gotham, check in with the local franchise cult, find an abandoned warehouse, draw the seven pointed star in the circle inscribed with Enochian script, enthral seven people no one will miss, and cut their throats at the appointed time while chanting a language you can barely understand.

If you do it you have your master's favor, along withan enhanced lifespan and mind-bending occult powers, an endless stream of fanatical underlings, and the assurance of your family line.

If you don't you will _wish_ the master lets you die by the end of an hour, so the demons back in hell get your soul.

Brother Blood was, in his own humble opinion, not untalented in the arcane arts and as he orbited the ten-foot diameter circle with its seven limp, bloodless occupants, proceeding slowly to assure that all the black grease crayon and white chalk markings upon the concrete were intact he assured himself of this fact, feeling somewhere in the vast emotional range directly between smug and shitting himself.

Checking the pocket watch he had had commissioned in 1922 that kept perfect astrological time to the half second over a decade, he saw by the seven hands there that he had five minuets to spare until the prime alignment for the final incantations.

Best to be prepared then.

Quickly absconding to the wall and returning with a polished metal attache case and entered the combinations on the two locks. Only one of them was 666 and he considered that a mark of personal restraint. From the black foam interior he removed an almost sheer swache of fabric and unfolded it reverently on the silty floor in the few feet between himself and the magic circle.

It was his most precious possession, the prayer shawl of Christ.

Or at least, that's what his august ancestor had believed when he killed a fellow monk for it, then bartered with Scath to escape punishment and somehow working in a centennial life span and eldrich power. All in exchange for a little sin, a little patricide, and the delivery of all the souls of the little nation of Zandia into his keeping.

Sebastian himself couldn't care less if his shroud was a genuineholyartifact. It was a genuine _unholy _one. It was the material remnant of the deal between the first Brother Blood and the arch demon Trigon. As such it possessed considerable power of itself and enhanced his abilities tenfold.

_It is to precious to risk lightly_. he thought as he knelt on the ground with his hand before his breast in supplication, _No one may look upon it but me._

To fill the time and set the proper atmosphere he began to chant a guttural latinalitanyof rhyming curses upon the Papal seat composed in one of his more verbose ancestor's stewardship of the title Blood.

At what he had little doubt was the precise moment his watch struck the astrological hour, Sebastian Blood felt the sense of a queer pressure, like gravity had been instantly reversed with him affixed to the ceiling, and like being underwater in a swift and sudden current, but most of all like the millisecond before you're struck by lightning.

And then he was blinded by crimson and azure bolts of nameless power dancing like nightmare serpents within the circle and arcing to the alloys in his cyborg frame before igniting in a magnesium white flash that enveloped the bodies before him and giving his remaining skin a fairly sever sunburn.

* * *

Raven's first impression of Metropolis was...

Well, it was clean.

Almost antiseptic.

And very, very bright.

Too bright. After half a decade in smoggy, rainy, cramped London, Raven felt vaguely like a blind cave salamander under flood lights when she stepped off the train (Dick was on a surprisingly tight budget for a millionaire's adopted son). She was fairly certain she'd been in deserts with less sun exposure. The very building se could see positively _shined_.

If she hadn't known for a fact via her empathic sense that it wasn't true, the dark woman would have been convinced that the population of the city, to a man, woman and child was insipidly optimistic, just from the view walking out of the train station.

As it was, as far as she could tell, being in the same city as The Man of Tomorrow seemed to have given the local population an almost universal morale boost. So much so that it seemed to change the very nature of Metropolis' genius loci, its collective spirit, in a fundamental way.

If she spent more than three days in the city limits she was going to end up wearing pastels, she just knew it.

Once she had adjusted to the incipient glare enough to stave off snow blindness, which took a good few seconds, she followed Dick to the motor pool and got in the cab he selected after him.

After a few interesting minutes in which she tried to parse what the chatty Indian cabbiewas saying in his hopefully idiosyncratic pigeon of his native tongue, English, and Rastafarian ghetto slang that was indecipherable despite her having an a fluent understanding of two thirds of its base elements, they arrived in the industrial district and paid the fare.

The building was unremarkable for the neighborhood. That is to say large, concrete, nondescript factory space. The didn't appear to be any sign to indicate this was the right building. It was likely assumed if you needed to get into the Steelworks, you'd know how to get in. Which Raven didn't.

"Are we sure this is the right place?" she asked, with just enough of an arch tone to hid her doubt but not to gall, hoping to prompt Dick on how to enter.

He was interrupted by one ofthe loading dock semi-truck access doors set along the building side farther down the block rolling open and a man hopping down the few feet to ground level.

He was a lanky man in his late twenties or early thirties with an affable face, glasses, and short spiky blond hair. Over all he exuded an impression of easy welcome.

"Hey," he called as he walked the distance to the corner where they waited, the door sliding closed behind him. "Are you the Ms. Roth and Mr. Greyson that called about an appointment?"

"Answers that question." Raven mused to herself as Dick returned the greeting.

"That's us." Dick replied, "We're here to see Victor Stone."

"Vic's running a little late in a meeting. Scheduling is tight at the moment and he told me to watch for you two if he wasn't available. Come on in." He gestured for them to follow with a casual wave.

Proceeding to a rust stained doorway in another wall that looked for all the world like a disused maintenance access, the three proceeded into a large, high roofed industrial space subdivided by floor to ceiling plastic curtains.

"We have a presentation on our proprietary nano-tech running now. With Vic being the resident expert in the field, Mr. Irons lets him handle romancing the Biotech firms and trying to squeeze S.T.A.R. Labs for funding."

"Really?" Dick asked, "I've been following his work the last few years, but this is the first I've heard of his being anywhere near market-ready."

"We're keeping this on the down low until we have FDA clearance for use as a medical treatment." Richie elaborated, "This tech is a whole new way to look at surgery and limb replacement. Hell, most developers are working on just applications at the moment. I can make a toaster into a particle accelerator with a roll of tin foil and some salt water, but what he's cooking up is way beyond next-gen."

There was mechanical detritus littering worktables in many of work areas and futuristic machine tools scattered along the walls. Twice Raven felt an atmospheric pulse that inexplicably made her taste purple. It was all par for the course as far as a mad scientists' lair was concerned, even if these one was on the side of the angels.

What did give her pause, once her attention was directed to its floor to ceiling creche by Dick catching sight of it from the corner of his eye, then stopping to stare at it for a moment where anyone not trained in reserve subterfuge by the batman would have been in open-mouthed shock, was a very large piece of futuristic industrial equipment.

It was big. Barely fitting under the third storey roof big. Its main body was an ovoid shape joining two massive clawed arms. The powerful bipedal legs supporting its mass were slightly crouched in that odd state of resting readiness found in the truly mindless. Its green optic gleamed from its breastplate, but thankfully without even machine comprehension. It was also an eye-popping construction yellow.

"Saw my baby, did you?" Richie asked with more than a little pride when he saw the two former Titans' distracted pause, "That, my good man, is the GLM heavy construction master/slave robot. The core design is all mine, but Mr. Irons assisted with the metallurgy for the exoskeleton and Vic remapped the neuron reader after my initial build was too clumsy to weld. It can follow action you can think of now, as you do it. In five years, this will render every on-sight building machine obsolete save the specialized gear, like cement trucks. Caterpillar is beating down our door to get at the patents."

"I have to say, Richie, I'm impressed." Dick said. Raven, for her part, could hear the gears grinding in his head as he tried to figure out what he was going to do _when_, most definitely not_ if_, he had to take one down. Commercially available giant robot handed out to an industry that hired a significant number under the table, with a fair number of ex-cons and "union" connections? That wasn't a recipe for disaster _at all_.

Then again, the same could be said for any bulldozer.

Richie, having properly gloated over his newest creation of science gone mad, directed them to a door set into the far side of the factory space from where they entered.

"This is the presentation room, they were wrapping up the technical stuff on the development and construction of our nanite hive when I stepped out, so by now they should be on to application. Or, as I like to call it, the good part." Hand on the doorknob, he turned with more than a bit of theatrical flair and said, "Stay toward the back of the room, and prepare to be amazed."

* * *

Though he was the better part of a century old and a bit of an old hand at magic, demon summonings, and all manner of eldrich things, Sebastian was still rather impressed despite himself with the sheer spectacle of... whatever this was that was entering into the world.

This was for three reasons:

First, The random discharges of energy near both the high and low end of the visual spectrum indicated a lot of wildly fluctuating power was being poured into this manifestation. More, by any rate, than his paltry few sacrifices would generate without considerably more ritual to amplify them. So the thing on the other side was throwing good money after bad to end up here.

Second, the bodies inside the seal were being dissolved by the dancing snakes of energy that leaped between themselves and the seal, leaving a column of air enclosed within its boundriessubstantially thicker, and somehow very greasy. And that meant aether, or kaos or firmament or whatever you cared to call the proto-material before it became matter or energy or time or love or whatever, so this demon was damn well not going to be banished back to its home hell plane the same way it came. It was staying because it was forming a body from the native material of_ this _plane.

Third, his patron demon and this newcomer had some connection, possibly an alliance. There was no other way to send instructions to one of his seers except through his master. It had to be damned impressive to work with Scath without being destroyed summarily for entertainment purposes.

It might offer some advantage to be in this thing's good graces, should such a place exist, not least so that he could stab this thing in the back should he get a chance.

All in all, he had only one option as a self respecting Satanist of his standing. He needed in on the ground floor.

He quickly dropped to proper groveling position, a deep kowtowing bow with his leg muscles loose and ready to spring away should he need to dodge. It was a good position to be in when meeting demonic emissaries, whose egos were literally legendary. With his forehead resting on his palms upon the shawl, he made an ironic tableau of Muslim prayer that might tickle the hell beast's fancy.

"Oh great and sinister master, I, your ignorant and unworthy servant, pledge myself to your service." He debased himself, on the grounds that it was far preferable to acting like a jumped-up tit and being disemboweled by some cthonic horror. Once was enough. "I was not expecting your magnificence, we were only told this was a moment of portentous stars, and to perform a simple summoning."

By the end of his rather sincere sounding apology, the unsubstancein the air above the seal had coalesced into an opaque sulfurous miasma. Whatever was coming through had arrived. From the obscuring smoke came what sounded like the giggle of a girl-child. Blood was very glad for the thick curtain of brimstone in the air just then, because any demon that giggle like a little girl is going to be highly unpleasant even for its species, and he wanted to get in some _quality _sucking up before it saw him and decided to sponge paint the walls using his internal organs.

"If your greatness would see fit to take me into your service, this humble servant would dedicate himself to your aims, so long as they align with those of my master." He was very sure not to look up, because his peripheral vision showed the smoke to be dissipating. And he definitely heard another little girl giggle. This did not bode well.

He was not looking forward to seeing the monstrosity making that noise, and him a man whose weekend to do list regularly include reminders to seduce the innocent to vice and ritualistic manslaughter and more, man_ butchery_.

He kept his head down in his own self-defence.

"Flattering as the constant adulation and bowing is, we won't get much done if you prostrate yourself all night." The voice speaking _was _female, which he honestly hadn't really expected, but markedly older and more mature than the tone of the giggling. Self assured, and a bit sardonic, its tone nevertheless lacked the bitter contempt most demon-spawn held for mortal servants. Blood risked his sanity and raised his gaze to the speaker.

What had come through the inter-dimensional portal from an unknown hell world was an attractive if rather superior looking young woman of about 20. She wore a light pink tank top, low slung jeans with a wide studded belt, and shin high boots. She looked down on him in more ways than the purely literal from all of five feet and four inches tall. He had not anticipated this.

"Yes, er...my lady." Brother Blood replied as he climbed to his feet in a slight state of shock.

"Well, at least you take instruction." she mused, more to herself than anyone else. Running her eyes up and down, no doubt noting his cybernetic enhancements. Looking over her shoulder into the still-smoking circle she called out, "Hey Sam, are you sure this is our contact? No-one said he was half Ipod."

A hereto unknown tic manifested itself in the corner of his left eye.

As the noxious gas cleared, Sebastian could see several other figures in the summoning circle. Most of them were very indistinct. One looked like a small, near adolescent child, another was six foot and then some and wide across the shoulders. Unfortunately this was the one to step forward.

He was every bit as large as his silhouette implied, and was muscled like the rather less civil sort of barbarian hero. His skin was a uniform rather ruddy color like a bloodhound's roan, and his long, dark hair was wiry rather than smooth, so that one would almost call it fur. He wore little, just a black leather vest, belted black jeans and motorcycle boots with hanging chains.

As he came to look over Blood like the girl had done, Sebastian noted his features were quite brutish. His jaw was almost _too _square, his brow too heavy, his nose hooked and squashed and broken. Only his dark eyes belied this ogreish impression, they glittered with native and malicious intelligence.

"Are you Brother Sebastian Blood, eighth of that line and that name?" he asked in a rather scratchy baritone

"I am." he replied

"And have you sired your successor?"

That was a question he rather he not been asked, especially with the family history of death by patricide. Still, he wasn't immortal, just long lived. He had little choice but to continue his bloodlineorbe... punished for breach of contract as his life came to a close. His offspring, the little larva was not old enough yet for solid foods. Still, that the topic was thought at all ralavent was not encouraging in the least.

"Er-Yes, master Samuel." And he flinched at the slow shifting of that brutal face toward anger at his reply.

"My name," the dark man said in a merciless tone that bordered on terminal finality, "is Samael." The old man's eyes went wide with fear and an imperceptible misting of terror driven tears. It was _not_ a name called upon lightly.

"Not _that _Samael." the girl corrected her large comrade, lightly slapping his shoulder in annoyance way of rebuke. "His mother had a flair for the dramatic, is all. Which this one seems to have inherited."

She threw and arm around his neck, which dragged the much taller man down considerably, but he mad no move to shake free of her irreverent handling.

"We call him Sam to prevent confusion, given the circles we run in."

"We?" Blood asked curiously

"Our siblings." she said, carelessly waving her free arm at what he saw was a circle of five adolescents ranging from a twelve year old girl with hip length brown hair in an orange jumper and white stockings, to a rather oily eighteen year old with a hungry, rangy look to him and furtive green eyes. Despite there different features, coloration, ages and bearings, there was some indefinable commonality between them, the same subtle menace. Some whispering of his unconscious mind recognised a resemblance he couldn't quite quantify, just there, along the line of the brow.

"Of course my lady I can see the resemblance." he differed.

"I just bet you can." the young woman dismissed, before changing subject and miens, going at once from sarcastic to haughty as her brother spoke.

"Do you wish you be of service, Blood?" the dark and sinister man asked, finally slipping from his sister's grasp.

"Yes, Lord Samael. Of course my lord." he bowed his head in diffidence, which may have even been genuine.

"Then let us make..." he paused, as though savoring his next words before releasing them "a deal."

* * *

It had been a long time since either Titan had seen Victor Stone. Raven hadn't seen him since she left the team, and what with secret identities, Dick hadn't seen him either since the last time the JLA called them both for a crisis. That had been about two years ago.

He was both the same, and very different than they remembered him. Physically, as was to be expected, he as very much the the man they had known. His frame and features were the same, but as they were essentially locked intohis rather developed sixteen year old dimensions, that was no surprise.

But he was aged, around the eyes a little, and carried himself... heavier somehow, heavier in years. The ways his applied hologram mirrored his living features, (and clothed him an a nicely tailored slate grey suit) gave him a gravitas that his calm, so unusual for a teenager, had hinted at. And he spoke with a deep chested baritone that was nothing if not confident.

The gathering within the room seemed to be somewhere between a academic lecture, a corporate press conference,(without any reporters in this case) and a stockholder's meeting. Victor was currently giving a discourse upon the Steelwork's latest development.

"Our technology is a quantum leap in the art of human organ replacement." Dr. Stone said from behind his podium, responding to a question not heard the the former vigilantes entering discretely through a side door of a small, darkly lit auditorium. "Engineered with the help of Dr. Ray Palmer, the foremost expert in nanobiology and engineering, each nanobot is active only when in the range and under the influence of the core hive mind."

As he spoke, his eyes lost focus, just slightly. If you didn't know of it, it would have been imperceptible. But the Titans in the room knew he was using his internal HUD to activate some external device. This bore out when the screen behind him, which until then had show what looked to be a nanobot, all insectile angles forged of chemical engines and quantum programming, to show a generated graphic of a human brain...with some additions.

"While I am fully aware that cybernetic enhancement is far from commonplace, rest assured that the implants are based upon the interface designed by my father, a system that has run through torture-test conditions for over a decade with no failures. Our equipment is, admittedly, less ambitious.

"Once the artificial limb has been crafted by the colony from undifferentiated cell cultures and surgically attached, the hive-mind takes command. This system is designed to constantly broadcast a signal directing the swarm in all activities, but without certain criteria being met, those being catastrophic injury, the system is only allowed to accelerate the healing process and facilitate control of the limb.

"What assurances do we have of the system being secure?" asked on of the lab coats in the audience "Any system using radio waves is susceptible to interference, interception and pirate signals. What measures are being taken to ensure The nanomachines in the patent's body won't become a danger?"

"The system used a combination of a biometrically encoded carrier wave and an artificial hormone structure to relay instructions. The lack of either disables the nanomachines, and they're coded to respond only to the hive signal, with which they are in constant contact. Any interference would at worst trigger a reset, which will only be initiated once both the chemical and broadcasted instructions are received.

"In addition, the frequency channel we use for the transmission is both currently unused in any known application and exstremelyshort range, to the order of two meters before it disperses to background radiation at a geometric falloff rate. It is very intense within that field, however, to the point of overpowering anything within it form any other system is in short, as secure as can be made for a prosthesis short of actually running wire through the patient. Next question."

"Dr. Stone, a number of your earlier prosthetic design included meta-material synthetic tissue and bone structures that would give greater than human strength and durability." This from a woman in a burgundy pantsuit that thought he recognized from a few Wayne Industries product demonstrations from years earlier. She worked for DARPA if her remembered correctly. "What applications for those technologies are to be made available?"

"Those technologies were developments based upon my fathers work and incorporated the earliest prototypes of my control system and nanomachine maintenance systems." Vic awnsered, but seemed rather put out by the question. "Unfortunately the modifications, even for a single limb almost universally required reinforcement of the skeletal structure up to and including the spinal column to prevent inducing further injuries. As such, the risk was too high to use the procedure on the heavily injured, and any proactive use for the military had ethical implications and issues of liability that mad it more practical to mothball the project and use the data for the formation of this system."

At his he seemed to have satisfied the majority of his audience's immediate concerns, so he finished his lecture.

"If there are no more questions..."

* * *

"It is quite simple." Samael began, noting Brother Blood's wary incomprehension, "We require your experience, connections, and abilities, being new to this plane. And you, presumably wish to be more powerful, to live longer, and all the usual temptations mortals covet. Correct me if I am mistaken."

As Blood refrained from resounding, he continued.

"With such being the case, and my siblings and I regrettably having some...concerns regarding, not your capability or competence, but rather the arbitrary limits that have been placed upon your mystic abilities. I would change this, should you allow me."

"To what end?" the satanic monk asked, wary enough to risk seeming impudent, rather than except a hellspawns' gifts at face value. He was surprised when it was the girl who responded.

"Even with whatever after market mods you've fitted into yourself, our sources say you don't have the physical chops to pull off what we need. We're talking tossing around cars here, but we still need someone with brains and some magical know-how.

"So, instead of hiring someone like that who we might not be able to trust, or giving some poor schlub what we want and enslaving him, we elected to invest that time and energy in you. Someone bankable."

After a moment of consideration, in which he did not contemplate debasing her of that fantasy despite it inaccuracy, preferring his limbs where they were, Sebastian asked the only question that rally mattered since they said the word "deal".

"What are your terms?"

"Simple enough," the the dark and sinister man said. "we increase you destructive magics, your durability, and your life span will be extended...shall we say twenty years? Our fee will be that you do as we bid until our current mission is fulfilled. A little fetch-and-carry work, some research, a few murders. Nothing too heavy."

Blood was no fool. This deal would only come once, that much was apparent. And it was unlikely he had any real choice but to help these teenage hell spawn. They were allied to his master, and if he didn't agree now, being ordered to assist without the offered help would be... undesirable.

The offer was advantageous. Too much so. There was likely a catch, there always was with demon's deals.

On the other hand, he was already Damned.

"I accept your terms, master and mistress." He said with the subservience of a vassal addressing his patron. "What is thy will?"

"Well, that_ is _more like it." the snide comment came from the petulant young man in his late teens Blood had noted before. The older demon kin ignored him.

"First thing's first." the young woman asserted.

"Indeed. To seal the deal and claim your boon, you need only to take my hand" Sam match action to words, offing his hand to Blood. His eyes seemed...hungry.

But his was no time for misgivings, the self dammed have no salvation.

Sebastian gripped the outstretched hand and felt a discharge of demonic magic like 20,000 volts of electricity ground itself in him and burro deep into the heart of his shriveled soul, in the core of his mystical power. Within the part of him that allowed his will to bent reality, he felt a pressure build. His gift swelled like a blister filled with oily pus as corrupt energies flloded him, and his identity strained to accommodate until something finally broke.

He was screaming. And then he was falling.

* * *

Once the last scientists, CEOs, and government employees had departed, Richie gave the two former titans his leave and Vic was free to talk to two of his best freinds.

"Raven, Dick, good to see you. What brings you two to my humble workshop?" he asked with every appearance of somewhat weary affability.

"Well the world is in danger, its unintentionally my fault, and we need your help to avert the apocalypse" Raven reported with little irony and an absolute straight face. As an after though she added, "And I go by Rachel now in civvies."

"It's her father." Dick added as a clarification.

"Well, except for the name that was about what I was expecting." he said, "Actually this is pretty nostalgic. I feel ten years younger."

"You might feel ten years younger, but you look like an linebacker going to court. " Dick interjected, "Cot the hologram Vic, PR is one thing, but we're all family here."

"Yeah, alright man." Vic relented, touching a ring on his right middle finger. Abruptly his skin in several areas became titanium and ceramic, though he was still wearing the suit. Idly Raven wondered where he got it tailored to fit a four foot mantle across his shoulders.

"So, what are the details." he asked them.

"Sketchy. Rae knows the details, but her...employer isn't letting her disclose anything except as need-to know. Until we have the whole team, that's not us, apparently." Dick explained. "Kori is flying in on Friday and Gar is MIA. Once we _find_ him we can hash out the details."

"I'm sorry I can't tell you more. I am... not permitted to disclose what I know until I have a commitment to fight Trigon. And if anyone deserves to be the first to hear this, it'd be Gar." Raven said with an uncharacteristic amount of self-confidence. "It's the least I owe him."

"You got that right." Vic agreed, disapproval for the long ago hurt she dealt his best friend radiating at a low burn, like a banked fire. Raven felt the subtle hostility of the grudge easily enough, and didn't blame him. It was a horrible thing she had done to Gar.

"So are you in?" Dick asked, changing the subject to try and forgo useless open conflict.

"Like that's even a question." Vic scoffed, "But there are issues."

"Like?" Dick pressed.

"My work here is at a critical point. I'll need a few days to clean up the details so it can sit for a while. Besides that I have to get my affairs in order. I haven't exactly been dong a lot of long term missions lately." he paused, then finished at double his usual talking speed, trying to keep them from focusing too much on what he was saying. "AndIneedtotellmygirlfriendI'llbegone."

"Girlfriend huh?" Dick asked, with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Anyone we know?"

"No. And she doesn't like the whole superhero thing either." Vic said, indignant. "Her name is Jessica and its serious enough for me to not want to fuck this up because some perpetually constipated demon decided he had a mad-on for the world this year."

"Okay man, no need to get bent out of shape." Dick soothed

"I'm serious." Vic said, looking at Raven now. "I don't meet many women who are cool with the whole suit-of -armor thing in a long term relationship. I like this girl. She likes me. What she doesn't like is her peaceful normal life being disturbed by kidnapping attempts, ninja assassins, alien robot war machines, and anything else that ii drastically hazardous and unusual for anyone but us.

"So please, I know you can't promise she'll be safe, or anything. Fine. But you can give me the time I need to tell her what's going on, and that we'll do whatever we can to keep this off her doorstep. And another thing-"

"Victor!" Raven interrupted as he took a breath to perpetuate his rant.

"What!"

"It's not a problem. We have time. For now." raven assured him. "My father's operatives haven't begun their endgame, yet. We're good."

"Really?"

"Really. Take your time. See your girl. Get everything in order."

* * *

The mind of Brother Blood was as dark as the depths of Tartarus, .and he slept without dreams. He knew only oblivion, but had he been able to listen properly, from his damadged, healing rest, this is what he would have heard.

"Is he out?" A feminine voice shaded with both curiosity and disinterest. The girl from before.

"Yes. The process of imbuing that sort of power is very stressful. He won't awake ere dawn." Male, low and brutish; oddly precise diction.

"Will he be able to do the job?" a boy in his late adolescence, not yet a man. His tone is husky and arrogant.

"He will. He's gambling we won't get him killed or actually succeed in letting father loose. He's planingbothsides against the middle with his life at stake and hell waiting. He'll be conscious of our scrutiny, and won't risk us offing him as a traitor. He'll perform." This from the sly young gentleman Blood had noted before.

"Question is, will he do a good enough job not to tip off our bitch sister?" A young man with a grudge, who seemed to spew a bit of bile with every syllable like a vat of boiling acid.

"So long as we don't have to do the leg work until miss goodie two shoes shows up I don't give a damn if he draws attention. Let them think he's up to something. We arn't going to tell him enough to be betrayed properly." This girl was unconcerned and laconic at their ruminations, in fact neglectful would have been a better word.

"Tiffy! Can we somewhere to sleep now? I'm tired and hungry, and this place is dirty and cold and covered in blood." A child this time, high pitched but nearly sexless. Just a hint of girlishness to its innocent petulance.

"Alright Sara. We'll break into a house somewhere." The first voice again, this time with a tone of taxed patience and competence. "Somebody leave a note for Blood on where and when to meet tomorrow."

* * *

A/N: Well this was much too long in the coming. No excuses, it is what it is. I only ask if you like what you see the to tell me so, that I might summon my enthusiasm and actually write/type what I have in my head.

I ask you to bear with the typos and errors. that is fro the most part the rather evil formatting of the editor on this website, which seems to forget alterations entirely when it feels like, and sees certain syllables as words no matter where they show up.

I finally get around to introducing the primary villains this chap, but still nothing major plot-wise. Sorry, that's next time.

Alot of cameos here at the Steelworks. yes, that was Gear, a few years on. And the GLM? the golem robot from that one episode of Batman Beyond. I figured it would fit with Gear making it, what with the precedent Back-Pack and the neural interface reversed engineered from Braniac. Dr. Palmer is of coursethe Atom, and Dr. Irons is Steel.

I have some other ideas for Steelworks, which we will come to in future chapters. Cyborg has been a busy little bee, and I intend to breach at least one of the great questions in the DC universe: "Where does he get those wonderful toys?"

Also, If you care to check out Raven's family tree on wiki, you can tell who I intended the new villains to be. Rest assured, I have made heavy changes to their characterization, as I found the idea good but the execution lacking.

Next up, villain activity,ill-advised experimentation, and BB makes his debut.


End file.
